IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

FRENCH   VIGNETTES 

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MARKCHAL  DE  MACMAHON 


{Frontispiece. 


IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

SCENES  AND  MEMORIES 


BY 

MISS    BETHAM-EDWARDS 

\\ 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  ORIGINAL  AND  COPYRIGHT 
PHOTOGRAPHS 


"And  not  a  tree  but  bloomed  blossoms  and  yielded  almonds." 


CHICAGO 
A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

.ONDON:   CHAPMAN   &    HALL,   LTD. 


Printed  in  Great  Britain 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 

FOR  the  illustrations  of  the  great  cedar  forest 
of  Teniet-el-Haad  I  am  indebted  to  M.  Fauchay, 
Lieutenant,  ler  Tirailleurs,  in  garrison  at  Miliana. 
No  photographer  being  available,  this  gentleman 
most  kindly  visited  the  forest  on  my  behalf  and 
photographed  the  most  picturesque  spots.  For 
such  serviceableness  to  an  entire  stranger  I  am 
indeed  grateful.  The  portrait  of  the  Marshal  is 
reproduced  from  M.  Hanotaux'  great  history,  by 
especial  permission  of  MM.  Boivin.  The  views 
signed  "  N.D.,"  trade-mark  of  MM.  Neurdein 
Freres,  Paris,  are  also  reproduced  by  arrange- 
ment with  that  firm.  The  remaining  photographs 
are  my  own  property. 

As  several  of  the  most  striking  scenes  visited  by 
me  have  not  been  described  by  English  writers, 
I  alternate  with  these  memories,  personal  and 
anecdotal,  passages  from  my  former  works,  A 
Winter  -with  the  Swalloivs,  and  Through  Spain  to 
the  Sahara,  both  long  since  out  of  print.  As  will 
be  seen,  long  before  the  Entente  Cordiale  was 
formulated,  the  English  traveller  in  French- 


vi  INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 

Africa  received  not  only  a  cordial,  but  an  affec- 
tionate welcome;  and  in  a  recent  work,  to 
which  I  refer  in  the  text,  Captain  Haywood  re- 
peats the  tale.  The  gallant  soldier's  journey  of 
just  upon  a  thousand  miles,  over  which  waves  the 
Tricolour,  is  one  long  record  of  French  urbanity 
and  good-fellowship. 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I  A   QUIXOTIC   DOWNCOME I 

II  STREET   SCENES 13 

III  THE   LADY   OF   MUSTAPHA   SUP^RIEURE  .  .         2J 

IV  A    VICE-IMPERIAL    COURT 4! 

V  FETES   IN   HONOUR   OF   AISSAOUA  .  .  '53 

VI  KABYLIAN   SCENES   AND    HOSPITALITIES            .            .         63 

VII       RAMADHAN 79 

VIII  THROUGH       THE      METIDJA     TO     TENIET-EL-HAAD         95 

IX      MILIANA '        .  .  .       107 

X  A   SNOWSTORM    IN    THE   CEDAR   FOREST            .            .121 

XI  SOCIETY   AT   TENIET-EL-HAAD         .            .            .            .       135 

XII      A     ROMAN    CITY    AND     A     BREAKFAST    WITH    THE 

TRAPPISTS 145 

165 
177 

XV   PLAGUE  AND  FAMINE 189 

XVI   THE  START 199 


viii  CONTENTS 


xvii  NEMOURS  (NOT  BALZAC'S)   .        .        «                 .219 

XVIII  TLEMCEN,    THE   GRANADA    OF   THE   EAST         .           ..  233 

XIX  ORAN — AND    "THE   BLITHEDALE   ROMANCE"            .  247 

XX  SA'fDA — ON   THE   THRESHOLD   OF   THE   SAHARA       .  265 

XXI  THE    EARTHQUAKE         .    .       .       •"*•-        .            *       7  >  281 

xxii  SOME  OF  "THE  QUALITY"           .        .        ,        .  295 

EPILOGUE 319 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

To  face  page 
MARECHAL   DE  MACMAHON      ....  Frontispiece 

ALGIERS    FROM   THE   SEA                                    ....  7 
DR.    EUGENE   BODICHON              .            .            .            •            •            -35 

MADAME   DE    MACMAHON 49 

TENIET-EL-HAAD I25 

IN   THE   CEDAR    FOREST *27 

CHALET   REPLACING   OUR   HUT  ...  .128 

CHERCHELL — A    MARABOUT      .            .            .            .            •            •  I5I 

BOMBONNEL  .            .            .                        .            •            •            •  I7I 

TLEMCEN 234 

TLEMCEN — A   STREET    SCENE             .            .            .                        •  237 

THE   MOSQUE   OF   SIDI   BON    MEDINE          ....  241 

THE   MINARET           ........  243 

MASCARA 259 

AN  ARAB  TENT 27X 

ALGIERS — THE  PORT 321 


PART  I 
MY   FIRST    SOUTHING 

CHAPTER   I 
A   QUIXOTIC    DOWNCOME 


CHAPTER    I 

A   QUIXOTIC    DOWNCOME 

ON  arriving  for  the  first  time  in  Algeria  I 
experienced  a  mortifying  little  surprise  recalling 
an  incident  in  the  world's  greatest  romance.  The 
beloved  Don,  fondly  awaiting  a  winged  chariot 
for  his  homeward  journey,  found  himself  hoisted 
into  an  ox-wagon;  instead  of  being  wafted  aloft 
by  griffins,  he  was  jolted  over  stones  and  ruts  by 
cart-horses.  And  a  similar  disillusion  befell  the 
chronicler  of  these  French-African  sojourns. 
The  matter  happened  thus— 

During  the  MacMahon  Governor-Generalship, 
an  artist,  whom  I  had  known  for  some  years, 
was  wintering  in  Algiers  under  quite  exceptional 
circumstances.  A  draughtswoman  of  no  mean 
capacity,  an  exhibitor  in  the  Royal  Academy,  in 
1866-7  she  was  lodged  in  the  winter  palace  amid 
Vice-Imperial  surroundings;  she  was,  indeed, 
the  guest  of  no  less  a  personage  than  Mme.  la 
Marechale,  the  last  to  bear  that  historic  title. 

This  great  lady,  who  spoke  English  as  to  the 
manner  born  and  loved  English  folks,  had  taken 
drawing-lessons  of  my  friend  and  had  also 
arranged  for  lessons  to  her  children.  Cordial 

B  2  1 


IN  FRENCH-  AFRICA 


relations  having!  ensued,  during  the  winter  of 
1866-7  .tne  artist  was  accommodated  under  the 
Governor's  roof. 

When,  therefore,  towards  the  close  of  the  first- 
mentioned  year,  she  wrote  urging  me  to  join  her, 
saying  that  room  was  to  be  found  for  myself  also 
in  the  same  august  quarters,  I  did  not  for  a 
moment  shilly-shally.  How  could  I  for  one 
second  hesitate?  It  was  a  case  of  now  or  never. 
Such  a  chance  could  never  possibly  occur  again. 
The  proposition  was  unrefusable.  So  with  post- 
haste I  packed  scrip  and  scrippage,  settled  my 
small  literary,  household  and  farming  affairs,  and 
having  loftily  forwarded  admiring  relations  and 
friends,  and  —  as  I  fondly  hoped  —  much  impressed 
publishers,  the  following  address  — 

Miss  BETHAM-  EDWARDS, 
Palais  du  Gouvernem, 
Alger, 

I  quitted  my  Suffolk  farm  en  route  for  Marseilles, 
with  exhilarating  visions  easier  imagined  than 
described. 

My  kind  friend  had  written  in  haste  and  without 
entering  into  particulars.  I  had  no  distinct  idea 
of  what  my  co-guestship  was  to  be.  I  only  knew 
that  the  invitation  seemed  in  her  eyes,  as  in  my 
own,  quite  an  exceptional  piece  of  luck  —  especially 
to  "  a  chiel  amang  ye  taking  notes." 


A   QUIXOTIC   DOWNCOME  5 

Were  the  two  English  visitors  to  take  their 
meals  with  the  Marechale's  ladies-in-attendance, 
Presidential  tutor,  governess  and  pupils?  Were 
they  to  be  admitted  to  the  quasi-Imperiale  circle 
in  the  evening'? 

One  thing  was  beyond  question.  We  should 
be  received  both  by  the  first  lady  in  French-Africa 
and  her  courtiers  as  friends.  And  however  other 
things  might  turn  out,  I  should  gain  immense 
stores  of  experience — and  no  bagatelle  to  me  in 
those  early  days — daily  hear  delightful  French. 

At  the  time  I  speak  of,  the  sail  from  Marseilles 
to  Algiers  lasted  two  days,  which  often  meant  a 
tossing  in  that  unfriendly  Gulf  of  Lyons.  Of 
the  Bay  of  Biscay  I  have  much  more  endearing 
remembrances,  having  glided  from  Southampton 
to  Gibraltar  in  halcyon  weather,  although  the 
month  was  November.  But  my  four  crossings 
to  and  from  Algiers  recall  another  unpleasant 
little  voyage,  that  from  Athens  to  Venice,  the 
Adriatic  in  May  vindicating  the  Roman  poet's 
well-known  epithet.  In  fair  days  the  neutral- 
tinted  sky  of  our  northern  atmosphere  is  left 
behind  with  the  Chateau  d'lf,  azure  heavens  and 
waves  of  deeper  azure  still  compensating  the 
philosophic  for  what  sailors  call  "a  jumpy  sea," 
a  sea  always  apparently  very  jumpy  between  the 
French  and  African  coasts.  After  nearly  forty- 
eight  hours  we  came  within  sight  of  Algiers,  rising 
like  a  vision  from  the  waves,  terrace  upon  terrace 


6  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

glittering  as  if  of  white  marble  piled  upon  a  sunny 
height,  on  either  side  stretching  verdant  plains, 
alternating  gardens  and  tillage,  wood  and  orchard, 
beyond  these  a  line  of  snow-tipped  mountains, 
the  farthermost  summits  dim  and  distant  as 
clouds. 

On  nearer  approach  the  lovely  panorama  be- 
comes distinct,  we  see  elegant  villas  dotting  the 
nearer  green  slopes,  minarets  and  domes,  a  light- 
house, arches  of  splendid  docks  crowded  with 
shipping,  brand-new  hotels,  palm  trees  and  olive 
groves  close  to  the  shore.  Then  we  slowly 
steamed  towards  the  landing-place,  a  scene  I  shall 
never  forget.  The  sky  was  of  a  burning  blue,  and 
as  we  reached  the  quay,  scores  of  boats  surrounded 
the  steamer,  plied  by  Arabs,  Negroes,  Maltese, 
Turks  and  Spaniards,  in  the  transparent  atmo- 
sphere their  dark  skins  and  brilliantly  coloured 
garments  seeming  positively  to  shine  with  lustre, 
whilst  the  stalwartness,  muscularity  and  grace  of 
their  unfettered  limbs  as  they  leapt  on  deck  was 
wonderful  to  behold.  What  with  the  cries,  ges- 
ticulations and  elbow-catching  of  these  boatmen, 
half-a-dozen  pouncing  upon  myself,  almost  forcing 
me  away  for  a  moment,  I  forgot  to  look  ashore. 
When  I  did  so,  to  my  great  concern  neither  semi- 
Imperial  carriage,  Presidential  footmen,  nor  friend 
were  visible.  The  steamer  must  have  arrived 
considerably  before  it  was  due,  I  thought,  and  a 
young  Arab,  with  a  beautiful  face  and  of  sym- 


A   QUIXOTIC   DOWNCOME  7 

metrical  proportions,  having  beat  off  his  com- 
petitors and  shouldered  my  bag  and  rugs,  I 
elbowed  my  way  down  the  gangway. 

Here,  again,  I  was  too  much  preoccupied  to 
cast  longing  looks  towards  the  quay.  I  had  un- 
luckily reached  the  quay  at  Marseilles  too  late  for 
the  registration  of  luggage.  Whilst,  therefore, 
the  other  passengers  could  land  at  once,  leaving 
their  effects  in  the  custom-house,  I  had  to  obtain 
permission  to  carry  my  own  away  or  leave  them 
to  chance.  The  leave  being  granted,  my  card  and 
address  sufficing,  there  followed  a  scene  of  indes- 
cribable confusion  and  uproar. 

Under  a  blazing  sun,  ragged  old  Pariahs  in 
malodorous  burnouses  besieging  me  for  a  sou, 
stark-naked  little  Arabs  and  Kabyles  hanging  to 
my  cloak  with  the  same  petition,  I  waited,  power- 
less to  stir,  whilst  a  fight  fierce  as  that  waged  over 
the  body  of  Patroclus,  took  place  over  my  boxes. 
One  after  another  brown-skinned,  bare-legged, 
powerfully-built  fellows  leaped  upon  the  spoil, 
one  by  one  my  Antinous  beating  them  off,  trying 
to  select  from  the  mob.  For  quite  a  mob  it 
was :  Moors,  Arabs  and  Kabyles  pommelling, 
vituperating,  cursing  each  other  with  a  vehemence 
that  would  have  been  terrifying  but  for  the  comi- 
cality and  picturesqueness  of  the  scene. 

On  a  sudden  appeared  a  mild-looking  French- 
man, a  custom-house  official,  and  the  uproar 
vanished  quickly,  as  the  fisherman's  unbottled 


8  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

geni,  into  smoke.  The  French  clerk,  my  good 
angel,  nodded  to  the  beautiful  young  Arab,  whose 
name  was  Ali,  and  who  turned  out  to  be  the 
laziest  loon  imaginable.  For  being  endowed  with 
authority,  he  immediately  chose  two  rather  poor- 
looking  creatures,  probably  poor  relations,  neither 
of  them  his  match  in  physique,  on  whose  backs 
he  piled  bags,  portmanteau  and  heavy  trunk 
with  ineffable  coolness  reserving  for  himself  two 
umbrellas  only. 

Now  followed  a  truly  suspensive  halt.  In  that 
blazing  noonday  sun  I  waited  with  my  three 
porters,  straining  my  eyes  in  vain  for  the  promised 
friend  and  carriage.  To  drive  in  such  humble 
guise  to  the  Governor's  palace  and  unfurnished 
with  anything  in  the  shape  of  an  introduction, 
seemed  out  of  the  question;  to  settle  down  in  a 
hotel  might  mean  a  vexatious  game  of  hide-and- 
seek.  And  meantime,  after  two  unappetizing  days 
in  a  jumpy  sea  I  felt  cravings  of  hunger.  What 
could  have  happened  ? 

I  had  just  decided  upon  taking  a  fiacre  to 
the  nearest  hotel  when  I  saw  my  friend  tripping 
jauntily  towards  us,  a  large  white  umbrella  shield- 
ing her  from  the  sun,  her  lightest  possible  attire 
suited  to  this  July  weather  in  December,  her  atti- 
tude of  entire  composure  "  calm  and  unruffled 
as  a  summer's  sea."  Nothing  like  the  artistic 
temperament  to  minimize  contretemps  and  pecca- 
dilloes ! 


A   QUIXOTIC  DOWNCOME  9 

"  I  could  not  write  to  you  or  telegraph  in  time," 
she  began  (aerial  telegraphy  had  not  yet  been 
thought  of),  "  all  the  arrangements  I  wrote  of 
had  to  be  changed  at  the  last  moment.  I  am 
very  sorry,  but  I  have  taken  a  room  for  you  at  the 
Hotel  de  TEurope.  You  will  be  most  comfortable 
there,  and  as  it  is  so  near,  we  can  follow  your 
belongings  on  foot." 

So  off  we  set,  my  companion  evidently  revelling 
in  the  tropic  heat,  myself  blowzed  and  panting. 
I  learned  that  although  the  artist  was  remaining 
yet  awhile  under  the  palace  roof,  to  the  Mare- 
chale's  great  regret  accommodation,  after  all,  had 
not  been  found  for  her  friend. 

"  But  you  will,  of  course,  receive  invitations  for 
all  Mme.  de  MacMahon's  receptions,  and  at  Mme. 
Bodichon's  you  will  meet  all  the  best  people, 
French  and  English,  in  the  place." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  I  was  comfortably 
housed  in  the  hotel  afore-named,  recounting  home 
news  to  my  friend  over  a  dejeuner  of  quails 
roasted  in  vine  leaves,  fresh  figs,  bananas,  dates, 
olives,  Blidah  oranges  and  salads  of  all  kinds— 
a  truly  exotic  and  Arabian  Nights  repast ! 

On  settling  down  one  feature  of  this  thoroughly 
old-fashioned  French  house  greatly  struck  me. 
This  was  the  company;  with  two  or  three  excep- 
tions, all  seated  at  the  table  d'hote  in  the  evening 
being  my  country  people. 

Every  one  seemed  hale  and  hearty  and  on  the 


10  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

friendliest  terms  with  each  other,  but  I  could 
gather  from  their  tittle-tattle  hardly  an  inkling  of 
what  had  brought  them  so  far  from  home — unless 
it  was  the  insular  craze,  rather  necessity,  of  being 
anywhere  except  at  home.  And  the  majority  here, 
it  seemed  to  me,  might  every  whit  have  just  as 
well  been  holiday-making  in  English  health- 
resorts,  say  Bath  or  Brighton. 

There  were  a  couple  of  artists  certainly  who 
discussed  what  they  called  "moddles,"  and 
similar  topics  of  their  craft;  there  was  a  good- 
natured  Swiss  with  his  equally  good-natured 
German  wife,  who  did  testify  a  little  interest  in 
Algeria  and  Algerian  affairs;  then  there  was  a 
Gnddiges  Frdulem  or  aristocratic  young  German 
lady  with  her  companion,  two  oldish  young  Eng- 
lish ladies  chaperoned  by  a  married  sister  sup- 
posed to  be  invalidish,  an  Anglican  clergyman 
with  his  pretty  timid  bride  on  their  wedding-tour, 
and  a  few  others. 

I  was  tabled  by  my  neighbour  on  the  second 
storey,  and  whose  acquaintance  I  had  already 
made  on  the  landing-place.  She  was  a  Scotch- 
woman wintering  here  with  an  admirable  old 
Scotch  maid,  both  kindest  of  the  kind.  The  lady 
had  popped  "her  head  out  of  her  bedroom  door  on 
hearing  my  ascent  with  artist  friend,  porters  and 
luggage,  and  having  already  met  the  former,  an 
introduction  of  course  followed.  So  at  dinner  we 
chatted  amicably  enough,  our  conversation  turn- 


A   QUIXOTIC   DOWNCOME  11 

ing  mostly  on  the  Arabs  and  their  bad  treatment 
of  donkeys. 

Unfortunately,  however,  this  excellent  lady  had 
heard  of  my  authorship,  and  doubtless  actuated 
by  the  desire  of  being  congenial,  plunged  head 
first  into  belles-lettres.  I  expressed,  of  course, 
unweening  admiration  for  the  great  twin-gods  of 
Scotland,  the  beloved  Sir  Walter  and  the  equally 
dear  and  immortal  ploughman  of  Ayr. 

"  Well,"     broke    out    my     companion,    "  true 

enough,  all  you  say,  but  after  all  that  is  said  and 

done,  no  poet  living  or  dead — to  my  humble  mind 

—can  touch  Byron.     Only  think  of  those  lovely 

lines — 

"And  Hugo  is  gone  to  his  lonely  bed 
To  covet  there  another's  bride ! " 

I  heard  aghast.  This,  then,  was  what  I  must 
expect?  Instead  of  rapturously  drinking  in 
French  sallies  and  subtleties,  persiflage  and 
•potins,  gossip,  diplomatic  and  social,  pronounced 
with  the  exquisiteness  of  the  Comedie  Franchise, 
that  school  of  French  in  its  sovereign  purity, 
my  fate  was  to  be  native  twaddle-dum-dee  only 
matched  at  parochial  garden-parties  and  mothers' 
meetings !  An  ox-wagon  instead  of  Astolfo's 
winged  chariot  indeed,  or  as  street  urchins  would 
say  of  an  overturned  apple-cart,  "  My  !  What  a 
cropper !  " 


CHAPTER    II 
STREET   SCENES 


CHAPTER  II 

STREET  SCENES 

BUT  what  could  vulgarize  this  delightsome 
land? 

It  is  not  only  the  climate,  that  from  October 
till  May  is  as  near  perfection  as  any  in  the  world, 
but  the  beauty  of  the  scenery,  the  odd  mixture  of 
races,  the  picturesqueness  of  daily  life,  and  the 
perpetually  varying  interests  around,  that  render 
Algiers  and  the  entire  colony  so  interesting.  Here 
you  find  all  the  amiability,  sprightliness  and 
enthusiasm  of  French  life,  with  all  the  colour, 
poetry  and  vagabondage  of  the  desert.  You  may 
spend  one  day  amid  scenes  as  gorgeous  and 
Oriental  as  those  of  the  Thousand  and  One 
Nights,  the  next  may  be  given  up  to  botanical 
expeditions  under  learned  guidance,  meetings  of 
archaeological  societies,  concerts,  social  gatherings 
and  other  distractions  of  a  capital.  The  city  itself 
is  attractive,  ancient  Moorish  quarters,  mosques 
and  minarets  strangely  contrasted  with  the 
bustling  boulevards  and  new  squares.  But  the 
enchantment  of  Algeria  begins  farther  off. 

Exquisitely  lovely  as  is  the  view  of  Algiers 
from  the  bay,  envious  and  "paintable"  as  our 
German  neighbours  would  call  the  Arab  streets, 

'5 


16  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

none  but  artists  bent  upon  figure-subjects  care 
to  linger  in  the  modern  French  town.  The 
immediate  environment  is  enchanting,  whether 
you  ramble  along  the  rocky  promontory  of  Pointe 
Piscard,  where  the  crystal  waves  so  musically  lap 
the  frowning  coast,  or  climb  the  sunny  slopes  of 
Mustapha  Superieur  and  from  a  wilderness  of 
wild  flowers  look  down  upon  the  romantic  Hydra 
valley  and  the  white  walls  of  numerous  villas 
rising  amid  olive  and  cypress  groves,  on  the  one 
side,  or  whether,  still  ascending  between  hedges 
of  blue-leaved  agate  and  feathery  palmetto, 
stately  palms  rising  here  and  there,  you  reach 
the  breezy  Bouzareah,  from  its  summit  gaining  a 
splendid  perspective,  marble-white  city,  glittering 
blue  bay  and  purple  Atlas  range — all  to  the  new- 
comer is  sheer  fairyland. 

The  flowers,  of  which  I  shall  speak  later,  are 
indescribable  in  beauty  as  in  profusion — perhaps 
I  should  say  were,  as  doubtless  much  of  the 
flowery  wastes  that  I  describe  have  long  since 
been  built  over. 

The  French  arcades,  streets  and  squares  occupy 
a  level  lying  parallel  with  the  sea,  whilst  the  old 
Moorish  city  is  built  on  a  steep  ascent.  No  sooner 
do  you  begin  to  climb  than  you  turn  your  back 
upon  Europe  and  are  in  the  East. 

This  Arab  architecture  seems  strange  at  first, 
but  is  logical  enough.  What  so  adapted  to  burn- 
ing African  suns  as  these  narrow  streets  through 


STREET   SCENES  17 

which  scant  light  or  solar  rays  can  penetrate? 
You  wander  hither  and  thither  vainly  trying  to 
discover  some  design  in  the  interminable  network, 
to  find  blind  alleys,  crooked  or  straight,  every- 
where, and  often  barely  wide  enough  to  admit 
two  donkeys  abreast.  So  continuous  is  the  ascent 
that  every  street  may  be  called  a  staircase,  and 
but  for  the  diversions  by  the  way,  would  be  found 
a  weariful  staircase  too. 

The  houses  are  often  built  so  closely  together 
as  almost  to  meet  overhead,  and  have  a  construc- 
tion as  unique  as  it  is  fanciful.  Sometimes  you 
have  a  line  of  bare  white  wall,  only  broken  here 
and  there  by  an  iron  grating  or  heavy  door;  or, 
finding  the  sky  shut  out  on  a  sudden,  you  look  up 
and  see  that  the  dwelling  on  your  right  communi- 
cates with  that  on  your  left  by  an  arch;  or  you 
come  upon  a  picturesque  corner  house,  the  irregu- 
lar sides  being  supported  by  wooden  buttresses, 
sloping  and  slender,  after  the  manner  of  thatch. 
Nothing  is  made  to  match;  nothing  is  made  to 
please  the  eye  of  the  beholder  from  without; 
nothing  is  thought  of  but  security  against  three 
enemies,  namely,  the  public  eye,  the  rays  of  the 
sun,  and  the  catastrophe  of  an  earthquake. 

On  the  morning  after  arrival  I  climbed  with 
my  friend  to  the  Moorish  town,  at  every  step 
realizing  Browning's  words— 

"  All  we  have  willed,  or  hoped,  or  dreamed,  of  good  shall  exist 
Not  its  semblance  but  itself." 


18  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

After  the  Bible,  Shakespeare  and  Milton,  the 
Arabian  Nights  had  been  a  foremost  educator  of 
my  unschooled  childhood.  How  little  I  dreamed 
in  the  old  Suffolk  manor-house  that  I  should  one 
day  discover  the  truth  of  poetic  fiction ! 

There  sits  Alnaschar  dreaming  in  the  sun  over 
his  basket  of  trumpery  glass-ware;  with  his  arms 
out  at  elbows,  his  grey  cotton  pantaloons  in 
rags,  and  his  shabby  slippers  hanging  from  the 
heels,  he  looks  a  good-for-nothing  fellow  enough, 
and  quite  answering  to  the  account  of  his  im- 
mortal brother,  the  barber.  In  a  moment,  he  will 
rouse  himself,  kick  his  imaginary  wife,  the 
Vizier's  daughter,  and  one  feels  tempted  to  wait 
and  see  the  amusement  of  his  industrious  neigh- 
bour. He  is  no  dreamer,  that  tailor,  it  is  certain. 
As  he  sits  cross-legged  in  his  little  shop,  built 
like  an  oven  in  the  wall,  no  machine  works 
quicker  than  his  nimble  fingers  with  needle  and 
gold  thread;  and  if  he  gossips  now  and  then,  it 
is  only  to  take  breath.  And  lo  !  there  is  the  shop 
of  poor  Bedreddin  Hassan,  the  brother-in-law  of 
Noureddin  Ali  and  the  bridegroom  of  the  Queen 
of  Beauty,  who,  by  the  force  of  mysterious  cir- 
cumstances, became  an  alien  and  a  pastry-cook. 
He  is  handsome,  prince-like,  and  melancholy, 
as  we  imagine  him;  but  a  pleasant  smell  of  hot 
pepper-cakes  reaches  the  nose,  those  very  cakes, 
of  course,  by  which  he  is  restored  to  his  dignities 
and  his  bride. 


STREET   SCENES  19 

A  step  farther  and  we  meet  Morgiana  bound 
to  the  apothecary's,  a  well-knit,  superb  figure, 
half  Negress,  half  Mauresque.  What  a  dignified 
gait  she  has !  What  self-possession.  She  is 
wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  a  blue  cotton  shawl- 
like  garment,  having  a  single  strip  of  crimson  silk 
embroidery  inserted  in  the  shoulders,  and  in  this 
simple  dress  possesses  Greek  statuesqueness  and 
dignity.  Numberless  silver  necklaces,  anklets 
and  bracelets  adorn  her  fine  limbs,  thus  testifying 
to  the  liberality  of  the  master  she  serves  so 
thoroughly. 

And  surely  the  leader  of  those  mischievous 
urchins  must  be  Aladdin !  Half-a-score  of  them 
are  playing  round  a  fountain,  impish,  dirty, 
ragged,  but  fascinating  little  creatures,  who  cover 
us  with  dust,  splash  us  with  water,  drive  us  against 
the  wall,  yet  with  a  frolicsomeness  that  disarms 
anger. 

Yon  sinister  old  man  watching  the  group  must 
surely  be  the  Magician  whose  marvellous  lamp 
will  lead  to  Aladdin's  wealth  and  perdition. 

Next  comes  a  Jewess  dressed  as  doubtless  was 
her  ancestress  centuries  ago,  an  ivory-skinned, 
coal-eyed  woman,  inclined  to  embonpoint  and 
having  the  strongly  marked  features  of  her  race. 
She  wears  a  straight,  narrow  skirt  of  rich  brocade, 
a  black  silk  kerchief  bound  round  her  head, 
and  a  vest  profusely  embroidered  in  gold  and 
silver.  By  her  side  trips  her  pretty  young 
c  2 


20  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

daughter,  wearing,  in  sign  of  her  maidenhood,  the 
most  coquettish  little  cap  imaginable,  a  mere  tea- 
cup of  gold  and  crimson,  with  a  long  drooping 
tassel. 

Behind  them, — is  it  a  mummer  or  a  ghost? — a 
Moorish  lady  shuffles  along  in  her  comical  and 
ungainly  dress  of  full  white  trousers,  reaching  to 
the  ankle,  and  white  shawl  of  woven  silk  and 
cotton,  so  wrapped  round  her  as  to  form  hood  and 
mantle  in  one.  Only  her  eyes  are  visible,  but 
the  white  muslin  handkerchief  muffling  her  chin 
is  a  very  unpicturesque  veil  indeed.  A  bright 
sash  is  the  only  relief  to  this  queer  toilette.  Close 
at  her  side  follows  her  domestic,  a  jovial-looking 
Negress,  wrapped,  like  Morgiana,  in  blue  drapery 
from  head  to  foot,  and  bearing  on  her  arm  the 
daintiest  little  baby  in  the  world,  whose  tiny  hands 
are  dyed  to  a  brilliant  yellowish  pink  with  henna. 

Here  is  a  Kabyle  woman,  fresh  from  the  moun- 
tain fastnesses  of  the  Djurdjura,  and  the  so-called 
legitimate  descendant  of  the  old  Berber  race. 
One  sees  at  a  glance  that  she  has  neither  Arab 
nor  Negro  blood  in  her  veins ;  the  brow  is  square, 
the  chin  massive,  the  eye  grey,  the  skin  clear  and 
red. 

Her  dress  has  a  certain  dignity.  It  consists  of 
a  long  shawl-shaped  piece  of  dyed  cloth  reaching 
to  the  ankles,  confined  round  the  waist  with  a 
belt,  and  fastened  on  the  shoulders  with  metal 
pins.  The  arms  and  throat  are  bare,  and  are 


STREET   SCENES  21 

ornamented  with  rude  chains  of  silver,  palm- 
seeds  and  coral.  On  her  brow  is  a  handkerchief 
fastened  by  a  round  brooch,  betokening  that  she 
has  borne  her  husband  a  male  child. 

There  is  something  touching  in  the  utter  isola- 
tion of  this  wild  creature,  as  she  wanders  through 
the  friendless  streets.  One  marvels  what  could 
have  tempted  her  so  far  from  her  home  among  the 
mountains,  and  stops  to  ask  a  pitying  question 
or  two,  but  she  shakes  her  head,  understanding 
as  little  of  French  as  of  Arabic,  and  moves  on. 

Arabs  wrapped  to  the  chin  in  white  burnouses, 
grave  old  Moors  wearing  turbans  of  costliest  silk, 
Turks  in  brilliant  suits  of  violet  or  brown  merino, 
Biskrans  from  the  desert,  with  their  loose  vests 
of  gaudy  patchwork,  Jews  in  black  leg-gear  and 
blue  stockings,  Negroes — those  universal  dandies 
—in  the  lightest  colours,  of  course,  and  having 
a  flower  stuck  behind  each  ear — soldiers,  both 
Spahis  and  Turcos — what  a  spectacle  was  here, 
no  f eerie  at  the  Porte  St.  Martin  Theatre  half  so 
breathlessly  gorgeous  and  fantastic ! 

The  shops,  or  rather  workshops,  mere  chambers 
in  the  wall,  are  sights  to  see,  each  hung  with  wares, 
the  master  working  with  his  men  or  solemnly 
reading  the  Koran  as  he  sits  behind  the  rest. 

Here  were  pink-and-white  kid  slippers  daintily 
embroidered  with  gold-and-silver  thread ;  crimson 
leather  harness  and  trappings,  also  richly  decor- 
ated ;  pipe  mouthpieces  of  amber,  coral  and  ivory ; 


22  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

girdles  of  softest,  flossiest,  rainbow-coloured 
silks;  embroidered  curtains  and  cushions;  coffee- 
pots and  salvers  of  burnished  metal-work,  carpets 
gay  as  the  flowery  hills  beyond,  lamps  of  glitter- 
ing-coloured glass  surmounted  with  a  crescent; 
ostrich  eggs — not  the  fabricated  eggs  now 
palmed  off  on  the  unwary — mounted  in  silver  and 
tasselled  with  silk ;  tables,  stands  and  caskets  of 
mother-of-pearl;  cashmeres  from  Tunis;  Kaby- 
lian  pottery,  Morocco  scimitars.  And,  of  course, 
everywhere  we  see  the  Arab  amulet  of  amulets, 
the  tiny  hand  in  gold,  silver  or  metal,  a  charm 
warding  off  the  Evil  Eye,  and  by  its  fingers  recall- 
ing to  good  Mohammedans  the  five  cardinal  pre- 
cepts of  the  Koran,  namely,  circumcision,  fastings, 
almsgiving,  ablutions  and  prayer. 

These  little  symbols  are  scattered  broadcast 
about  miscellaneous  wares,  and  are  either  carried 
or  worn  by  old  and  young. 

The  merchants,  or,  more  properly  speaking, 
merchant  craftsmen,  are  a  wonderful  study. 
Higher  than  artificers,  hardly  artists  in  the 
accepted  sense,  miracles  of  colour,  skill  and 
fantasy  are  turned  out  of  these  little  workshops. 

Delightedly  I  used  to  watch  the  lithe,  umbery 
fingers  as,  swifter  than  weaver's  shuttle,  they 
moved  among  skeins  of  gold,  silver  and  silken 
threads,  apparently  without  plan  or  effort  attain- 
ing the  most  charming  combinations  and  har- 
monies. Doubtless  the  vivid  scenery  and  brilliant 


STREET   SCENES  23 

atmosphere  in  which  these  embroiderers  are  reared 
explains  such  success  and  facility.  The  love  of 
colour  and  perception  of  artistic  effects  are 
inherited  and  innate. 

Here  and  there,  solemn  as  Jonah  in  his  booth, 
would  sit  some  patriarch,  in  his  mouth  a  long 
chibouk,  very  likely  in  his  hands  a  Koran — which 
on  no  account  you,  being  a  Christian,  must  touch 
—and  before  him  a  small  pack  of  wares.  Both 
single  and  solitary,  vendors  recall  Kinglake's 
witty  description  of  similar  shopkeepers  in  Con- 
stantinople three-quarters  of  a  century  ago.  Here, 
as  we  read  in  the  ever  inimitable  pages  of  Eothen, 
the  seller  is  ever — 

"Striving  to  attain 
By  shadowing  out  the  unattainable." 

He  begins  at  the  A  of  his  fond  expectations,  and 
— as  time  has  little  or  no  meaning  in  his  eyes — 
creepingly  accepts  the  Z,  or  minimum  price, 
resigning  himself  to  the  will  of  Allah.  Whether 
matters  are  the  same  now-a-days  I  know  not;  I 
describe  what  I  saw. 

So  long  as  you  do  not  ask  to  look  at  your 
merchant's  Koran  or  touch  it — infidel  contact  with 
the  Mussulman's  Holy  Book  is  profanity — you 
will  find  these  traffickers  never  to  be  hurried  or 
fussed.  Grandees  from  the  crown  of  their 
heads  to  the  soles  of  their  feet  are  every  one. 
Every  now  and  then  we  halted,  admiring  some 
pretty  ware  or  other,  or  asking  a  question,  sure 


24  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

to  meet  courtesy  and  a  smile.  There  is  no  such 
thing  as  Arab  embarrassment,  and  Arab  dignity 
is  unmatchable.  We  were  never  importuned  to 
buy — perhaps  at  a  glance  being  set  down  as 
lookers-on  rather  than  purchasers — and  no  one 
seemed  in  a  hurry  to  sell.  The  business  of  life 
apparently  was  simple,  daily  existence  being 
centred  in  the  chibouk  and  the  Koran. 

We  were  about  midway  in  the  old  town,  when 
my  friend  stopped  at  a  corner  house  having  the 
words  "  Ouvroir  Mussulmane  "  written  over  the 
door. 

"  Now  you  shall  see  a  Moorish  interior,"  she 
said,  "and  judge  for  yourself  whether  the  Moors 
or  the  French  show  the  best  taste  in  architecture." 

Having  traversed  a  gloomy  little  entrance,  we 
found  ourselves  in  the  centre  of  an  airy  court, 
open  to  the  sky,  with  delicately  carved  pillars 
supporting  the  galleries;  the  pavements  were  of 
tiles,  covered  with  flowers  and  arabesques,  and  in 
the  midst  was  a  fountain  surrounded  by  banana 
trees. 

The  bright  blue  sky  overhead,  the  dainty  white 
walls,  the  sparkle  of  the  water,  the  wavy  green 
leaves  hanging  over  it,  made  a  very  pretty  picture, 
but  when  we  had  ascended  the  staircase,  we  found 
a  prettier  picture  still.  Seated  round  the  gallery, 
in  rows,  were  about  a  hundred  little  Moorish 
girls,  busy  over  embroidery-frames,  their  little 
brown  legs  tucked  under  them;  their  dark  faces 


STREET   SCENES  25 

all  life  and  merriment;  their  bright  clothing 
making  them  look  like  pageanters.  A  pleasant 
young  French  lady,  one  of  the  directresses  of  the 
school  or  workshop,  came  up  and  showed  us  some 
really  superb  work;  soft  white  curtains  covered 
with  lilies  and  roses,  cloaks  of  real  cashmere  from 
Tunis,  worked  with  arabesques  in  white  floss, 
scarves  fit  for  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  linen  to  please 
Cleopatra. 

Among  these  Arab  children  of  both  rich  and 
poor  were  several  little  Negresses.  This  bright 
and  busy  scene  was  somewhat  marred  by  the 
thought  that  the  children  were  taught  the  use  of 
the  needle  only.  A  French  lady,  the  originator  of 
these  ouvroirs,  made  an  effort  in  another  direction, 
teaching  her  pupils  to  read  and  write.  The 
Government,  presumably  finding  the  step  dis- 
approved of  by  leading  natives,  vetoed  the  in- 
novation. On  the  subject  of  education  I  make  a 
few  remarks  further  on. 

Nodding  farewells  to  the  smiling  little  Zorahs, 
Ayeshas  and  Fatimas,  we  continued  our  climb. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE   LADY   OF   MUSTAPHA 
SUPERIEURE 


CHAPTER   III 

THE    LADY   OF    MUSTAPHA  SUPERIEURE 

NEXT  day  I  drove  to  the  suburban  villa  in  which 
Mme.  Bodichon,  nee  Barbara  Leigh  Smith,  had 
wintered  since  her  marriage  with  a  learned  Breton 
doctor  in  1857. 

The  day  was  perfect,  the  sky  without  a  cloud, 
and  the  air  fragrant  with  rose,  myrtle  and  violet, 
the  lovely  pink  almond  blossom  showing  in  every 
garden.  That  first  upward  drive  was  a  joy  to 
remember.  Slowly,  very  slowly,  my  fiacre  wound 
its  way  amid  the  verdant  slopes.  On  one  hand 
I  caught  sight  of  Moorish  dome  or  modern 
palace  glittering  amid  the  silvery  olive  trees,  or 
the  white  walls  of  a  French  villa  peeping  from 
lemon  and  orange  groves;  on  the  other,  looking 
across  cypress  trees  toward  the  sea,  here  no  "  ship- 
less  sea,"  as  Lamb  wrote  of  Hastings,  but  en- 
livened with  sails  flashing  in  the  sunlight,  whilst 
eastward  rose  range  upon  range  of  pale  amethyst 
mountains.  The  hill-sides  were  clothed  with 
foliage — the  olive,  which,  as  Mme.  Bodichon 
beautifully  said,  seems  to  smile  at  you,  the 
brilliant  banana,  the  glossy  palma  Christi,  the 
tasselled  tamarisk,  the  wild  cactus  and  fan-like 

29 


30  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

palmetto,  the  caroubier  with  its  grateful  shade; 
lastly,  and  crowning  all,  the  palm.  Only  the 
leafless  fig  trees  reminded  me  that  we  were  within 
a  few  days  of  Christmas ;  but  what  is  winter  when 
a  June  sun  shines  overhead  and  flowers  are  a- 
bloom  everywhere?  The  wild  flowers  would  not 
be  in  full  beauty,  my  friends  told  me,  for  another 
month  or  so;  already  mignonette,  rosemary  and 
large  marigolds  covered  the  banks,  and  the  lovely, 
tall  asphodel — there  is  a  smaller,  rarer  kind — 
made  me  realize  that  I  was  in  Africa. 

An  hour's  drive  brought  me  to  my  destination, 
a  large,  straggling,  Moorish-looking  house  at  that 
time  standing  almost  alone  on  these  heights,  and 
commanding  a  splendid  view  of  Algiers  bay  and 
Atlas  Range.  Inside,  the  aspect  was  still  more 
Moorish,  the  large,  bare,  super-airy  rooms  being, 
after  Eastern  fashion,  slenderly  furnished.  In- 
deed, to  be  comfortable  in  such  a  climate,  the 
less  your  rooms  are  crowded  with  furniture  the 
better. 

Immediately  my  hostess  entered,  looking  as 
English  as  it  was  possible  to  do,  and  strikingly 
contrasted  with  her  exotic  surroundings,  her  long, 
sumptuous  golden  hair — Godiva's  veil  was  here 
to  hand,  had  pageants  then  been  in  vogue — 
simply  dressed,  her  Titianesque  colouring  match- 
ing such  superb  goldenness ;  looks,  words,  gesture 
expressing  that  love  of  life,  that  intense  interest 
in  the  life  of  humanity — alike  collective  and  indi- 


LADY  OF  MUSTAPHA  SUPERIEURE     31 

vidual — rendering  her  own  so  full  to  overflowing 
and  so  serviceable  to  her  generation. 

This  was  my  first  meeting  with  one  who  was  to 
become  my  close  friend  so  long  as  she  lived,  and 
almost  her  first  words  were  a  plummet  line,  a 
feeler  and  also  a  revelation;  indeed,  a  synopsis 
of  character. 

Already,  as  Barbara  Leigh  Smith,  she  had  done 
valuable  educational  work,  and  set  on  foot  many 
progressive  schemes,  later  on  to  be  realized. 
Before  her  marriage  and  at  her  own  expense  she 
had  opened  and  carried  on  a  school  for  the 
daughters  of  artisans  and  of  the  small  middle 
class,  a  quarter  of  a  century  later  so  amply  pro- 
vided for  by  the  School  Board.  In  conjunction 
with  friends  she  had  also  started  a  movement  for 
the  amelioration  of  the  laws  relating  to  women's 
property  and  earnings,  the  result  of  which  was  an 
Act  of  Parliament  some  years  later.  And  though 
Girton  College  was  as  yet  in  the  far  future,  her 
mind  was  full  of  "sweet  girl  graduates  with 
golden  hair,"  their  academic  gowns,  triumphs  and 
honours. 

"Have  you  read  this  book?"  she  asked, 
producing  a  volume  from  under  her  sleeve,  the 
long-forgotten  memoir  of  an  almost  completely 
forgotten  woman  worker,  in  her  own  day,  indeed, 
a  lesser  but  no  less  zealous  and  much  more  intel- 
lectual Hannah  Moore.  This  was  Letters  and 
Remains  of  Caroline  F.  Cornwallis  (1786-1858), 


32  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

published  1864.  A  daughter  of  a  country  parson, 
the  author  had  occupied  herself  with  many  of 
the  questions  interesting,  or  rather  absorbing,  my 
hostess,  and  in  the  series  of  "  Small  Books  upon 
Great  Subjects"  had  written  upon  Ragged 
Schools,  Criminal  Law — and  also  Greek  Philo- 
sophy ! 

Chambers's  invaluable  compendium  gives  a 
short  notice  of  Caroline  Cornwallis,  a  really 
remarkable  forerunner  of  the  remarkable  women, 
outside  literature,  characterizing  the  Victorian 
epoch.  I  had  never  forgotten  the  book  and  the 
query  of  that  first  interview,  and  for  the  first  time, 
forty  and  odd  years  later,  procured  a  copy,  from 
which  I  cite  one  or  two  sentences — keynotes, 
perhaps  inspiration  of  Mme.  Bodichon's  life-work 
and  ideals. 

Written  in  1838  :  "When  the  poor  have  more 
education  I  would  have  the  poor  man  himself 
raise  his  voice  in  the  House  of  Commons  and 
plead  the  cause  of  his  '  order,'  but  we  must  wait, 
I  fear,  for  another  generation  ere  this  is  possible." 

Written  in  1847^:  "  It  provokes  me  to  see  how 
little  is  done  for  Ireland  now,  when  it  is  possible." 

But  here  are  two  utterances,  an  earlier  and  a 
later,  that  touched  upon  the  subjects  above  all 
interesting  to  the  lady  of  Mustapha  Superieure. 

In  1820  she  wrote :  "Why  was  I  not  a  Fellow 
of  a  College,  with  free  access  to  the  Bodleian? 
I  might  then  have  been  approfondie  in  something. 


LADY  OF  MUSTAPHA  SUPERIEURE     33 

Now  I  skim  the  surface  of  everything,  and  can 
get  no  further  for  want  of  assistance." 

Twenty  years  later  came  this  sentence  :  "  I  want 
to  have  the  great  principle  established  that  in  a 
free  country  every  one  ought  to  have  the  rights 
of  a  free  citizen,  and  that  sex  can  never  defeat 
those  rights." 

Wise  and  showing  deep  concern  are  her  anim- 
adversions on  the  existing  criminal  system,  so 
violent  as  a  repressive  measure,  so  utter  a  failure 
regarded  from  a  moralizing  point  of  view.  In 
fine,  this  forgotten  book  above  all  brings  out  the 
contrast  between  the  then  and  the  now,  the  slow, 
very  slow  evolution  of  quite  new  theories. 

Miss  Cornwallis  in  early  life  refused,  it  is 
hardly  clear  why,  the  hand  of  the  celebrated 
Sismondi,  but  the  pair  remained  close  friends  till 
his  death.  Some  charming  letters  in  French, 
among  the  last  he  penned,  are  added  as  an 
appendix.  A  New  Year's  greeting  on  January 
1842,  the  final  and  most  affectionate  of  the  series, 
closes  this  volume.  Its  recipient  lived  till  1864. 

But  Mme.  Bodichon,  to  her  disappointment, 
soon  discovered  that  ragged  schools,  the  higher 
education  of  women  and  social  and  philanthropic 
movements  could  only  have  my  good  wishes. 
Never  throughout  our  long  and  warm  friendship 
for  a  moment  did  she  entice  me  from  my  alle- 
giance to  my  legitimate  calling ;  never  throughout 
a  pretty  long  life  have  I  so  much  as  upon  a  single 


84  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

date  forgotten  the  fable  of  the  Cat  and  her  one 
Device;  in  other  words,  divided  my  energies 
between  social  work  and  literature. 

Such  holding  back  was,  however,  soon  under- 
stood and — excepting  sighingly  uttered  regrets 
from  time  to  time — respected. 

Although  the  book  and  the  query  gave  the  key- 
note to  my  friend's  character  and  the  leit-motif 
or  dominating  object  in  life,  she  was  far  from 
neglecting  immediate  sources  of  interest  and 
spheres  of  usefulness.  A  Frenchwoman  by  mar- 
riage, and  wife  of  a  settler  in  French-Africa,  she 
grudged  neither  time,  thought,  nor  money,  as  will 
be  seen,  where  Algerian  welfare  was  concerned. 
Her  catholic  and  sovereign  nature  recognized  no 
barriers  either  of  race,  nationality  or  religion. 
Just  as  during  her  American  tour  some  years 
before  her  heart  had  gone  out  to  what  Walt  Whit- 
man calls  "  You  dim-descended,  black,  divine- 
souled  African,"  then  in  bondage,  so  here,  alike 
in  Jew,  Moor,  Kabyle,  Bedouin  and  the  negro,  she 
saw  no  aliens,  but  as  yet  little  understood  brothers 
and  sisters. 

Tea  was  served  by  an  engaging  Arab  boy 
wearing  white  cotton  trousers  and  a  violet  cloth 
vest,  and  soon  the  doctor  strolled  in,  a  tall, 
dignified,  picturesque  figure.  Emily,  Shareefa  of 
Wazan,  and  her  magnificent  Moor  of  whom  we 
are  now  reading  could  hardly  have  presented  a 
greater  contrast  than  this  pair,  the  one  Anglo- 


DR.  EUGENE  BODICHON 


[To  face  p,  35. 


LADY  OF  MUSTAPHA  SUPfiRIEURE     35 


Saxon  to  the  finger-tips,  the  other  bronzed  to  the 
hue  of  a  Bedouin  and  hardly  European  in  his 
dress.  A  striking  point  about  the  former  army 
surgeon  was  his  hair,  an  iron-grey  poll,  so  thick, 
frizzed  and  fine  that  during  one  of  his  bivouacs 
in  the  desert  a  mouse  curled  itself  up  in  the  mass 
and  there  lay  till  dawn.  A  passionate  lover  of 
birds  and  beasts,  not  for  worlds  would  the  doctor 
have  dislodged  his  little  intruder  till  absolutely 
necessary. 

Many  projects  were  discussed  over  the  tea-- 
table, and  many  plans  laid  for  the  best  possible 
disposal  of  my  time.  I  had  here,  indeed,  the  open 
Sesame  to  all  that  Algeria  had  to  show  and  to 
teach. 

A  few  days  later  came  Christmas  Day;  and 
what  a  twenty-fifth  of  December  !  The  warm  blue 
sea  hardly  murmured  in  its  inland  flow,  the  sky 
had  not  a  cloud,  the  air  was  scented  with  roses 
and  violets,  and  every  window  stood  wide.  As 
I  journeyed,  this  time  by  omnibus,  to  the  hospit- 
able villa  on  the  heights,  I  was  one  of  holiday- 
makers  past  counting.  Carriages,  fiacres  and 
other  vehicles  rattled  in  every  direction.  French 
officers  in  their  uniforms — the  welcome  privilege 
of  mufti  whilst  off  duty  was  not  accorded  till 
twenty-five  years  later — Arab  sheikhs,  too  mag- 
nificent of  themselves  to  require  any  adornment 
beyond  spotless  white  burnouse,  workmen  with 
their  wives  and  children,  all  in  Sunday  attire, 


D  2 


36  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

negroes  and  negresses  in  gay-printed  cottons,  the 
men  with  a  pomegranate  blossom  stuck  behind 
the  ear — coral  contrasted  with  jet — every  one  bent 
upon  easeful  sociability  and  distraction. 

My  own  day  was  a  very  long  and  full  one. 
Instead  of  joining  the  twelve  o'clock  French 
dejeuner  at  Mme.  Bodichon's  house,  I  duly 
feasted  on  Christmas  fare  with  other  English 
visitors  collected  by  another  rich,  generous  and 
gifted  countrywoman  occupying  a  beautiful  and 
much  Europeanized  villa  close  by. 

Even  on  an  Algerian  Christmas  Day,  social  and 
philanthropic  obligations  were  not  forgotten  by 
the  lady  of  Mustapha  Superieure.  At  some  dis- 
tance from  her  home  stood — perhaps  still  stands 
among  the  hills — a  Protestant  orphanage.  Thither 
in  the  afternoon  we  drove,  Mme.  Bodichon's  car- 
riage having  a  sack  crammed  with  toys,  knick- 
knacks  and  chocolate  for  distribution. 

It  was  a  lonely  place  for  children  to  live  in, 
a  large,  rambling  Moorish  house  exposed  to  the 
four  winds  of  heaven,  and  looking  towards  the 
sea  and  snow-tipped  lesser  Atlas.  No  wonder 
that  in  these  solitudes  the  little  ones  welcomed 
us — and  the  sack — rapturously,  the  distributer 
and  part-donor,  moreover,  being  an  old  friend. 

After  entertaining  us  to  their  best  ability, 
proudly  showing  their  dog — which  might  appar- 
ently have  guarded  the  Hesperides,  so  ferocious 
its  aspect — their  class-rooms,  prizes  and  copy- 


LADY  OF  MUSTAPHA  SUPfiRIEURE    37 

books,  they  led  us  to  their  playground  and  there 
sang  hymns. 

The  singing  of  these  fatherless,  motherless 
bairns  was  especially  touching.  They  were 
mostly  Alsatians  or  Germans  without  kith  or  kin, 
utterly  cut  off  from  family  life.  As  they  joined 
in  the  simple  canticles  among  the  wild  African 
hills,  it  was  comforting  to  think  that  they  looked 
healthy  and  happy,  and  were  being  trained  for  the 
probable  destiny  of  each — that  of  a  colonist's 
wife. 

On  our  way  home  it  was  not  so  much  the 
Arabian  Nights  as  the  Bible  and  the  Koran  that 
came  home  to  me.  Hundreds  of  texts,  that  had 
brought  little  or  no  meaning  as  I  heard  them 
Sunday  after  Sunday  in  my  childhood,  thus  illus- 
trated became  suddenly  new,  and  true,  and  beauti- 
ful. The  most  trifling  incident  recalls  some 
pastoral.  The  most  simple  feature  in  a  landscape 
strengthens  some  familiar  though  hitherto  imper- 
fect simile.  One  interprets  Biblical  and  Mahom- 
medan  history  by  the  aid  of  vision;  and  as  I 
drove  among  the  olive-clad  hills  I  was  realizing 
much  that  had  hitherto  been  myth  only.  Jacob 
falling  on  the  neck  of  Esau  and  kissing  him; 
the  company  of  Ishmaelites  seen  by  Joseph's 
brothers  with  their  camels  bearing  spicery,  and 
balm,  and  myrrh;  David  keeping  his  father's 
flocks  on  the  hills;  the  son  of  Kish  seeking  the 
asses  that  were  lost— all  these  pictures  were  now 


IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 


photographed  in  my  mind's  eye  from  life.  It  is, 
indeed,  .almost  impossible  to  estimate  the  beauty 
of  such  idylls  and  the  imagery  of  such  poems 
without  their  help. 

Who  can  understand  "the  shadow  of  a  great 
rock  in  a  thirsty  land  "  till  he  has  suffered  the  heat 
and  blessed  the  shadow;  or  how  beautiful  the 
spring  can  be  in  the  south,  "  when  the  rain  is  past 
and  gone,  the  voice  of  the  turtle  is  heard  in  the 
land,  and  the  fig  tree  putteth  forth  her  tender 
leaves";  or  how  much  real  glory  and  wealth  are 
suggested  by  "the  dromedaries  of  Midian,  the 
multitude  of  camels  and  the  flocks  of  Kedar," 
unless  he  has  seen  something  of  the  primitive 
and  pastoral  life  of  the  East? 

We  met  troops  of  Arabs,  some  mounted  on 
camels,  others  riding  little  donkeys  side-saddle 
fashion,  driving  a  flock  before  them,  laden  with 
oranges  and  poultry ;  now  and  then  a  stately  Cadi 
sitting  bolt  upright  in  a  saddle  that  Sinbad  might 
have  embroidered. 

And  we  saw  two  lovely  pictures.  The  first  was 
by  the  wayside — a  man  guiding  a  donkey  on 
which  were  seated  his  wife  and  child — Joseph, 
Mary  and  the  infant  Jesus  !  He  strode  on  before 
us ;  and  in  the  level  light  of  sunset  the  little  group 
looked  so  distinct,  and  yet  so  dreamy,  as  not  to 
belong  to  our  own  world  at  all.  The  man  was  a 
superb  creature,  wild,  bearded,  with  marvellously 
symmetrical  features,  and  carrying  his  burnouse 


LADY  OF  MUSTAPHA  SUPERIEURE    39 

as  if  he  had  been  a  king  clothed  in  purple.  The 
woman  was  decently  dressed  in  white,  and  bent 
her  veiled  face  over  the  child,  who  had  a  bunch 
of  freshly  plucked  oranges  in  its  little  hands,  and 
crowed  with  joy. 

We  had  hardly  lost  sight  of  them  when  we 
alighted  at  a  little  cafe,  hidden  in  a  perfect  thicket 
of  wild  cactus  and  aloe.  Two  or  three  Arabs  here 
sipped  coffee  and  chatted,  reclining  on  stone 
benches  after  the  stately  Roman  fashion,  and 
nothing  could  equal  the  grace  of  their  salutation 
and  the  perfect  subjection  of  their  inquisitiveness 
to  good  manners.  They  were  well  dressed,  and 
spoke  tolerable  French,  thus  implying  a  certain 
European  culture;  but  just  behind  this  scene  of 
ease  and  enjoyment  was  such  a  suggestion  of 
historic  splendour  and  desolation  as  could  not  be 
forgotten. 

At  the  back  of  the  cafe  were  the  ruins  of  a 
Moorish  house — a  column  here,  an  arch  there, 
fragments  of  coloured  pavement  telling  of  former 
magnificence.  The  windows  were  overgrown  with 
palmetto,  and  the  basin  of  the  fountain  was  dry, 
whilst  what  had  once  been  a  courtyard  was  choked 
with  stones  and  weeds. 

A  little  donkey  browsed  close  by;  and  sitting 
under  a  broken  arch  was  an  old  man,  so  motion- 
less and  picturesque  as  to  look  a  part  of  the 
picture,  and  not  a  living  being  like  ourselves.  His 
beard  was  white,  his  face  pale  and  melancholy, 


40  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

his  eyes  lustrous;  and  as  he  sat  thus,  wrapped  in 
white  from  head  to  foot,  and  no  more  heeding  our 
presence  than  if  we  had  been  a  swarm  of  mos- 
quitoes, it  was  impossible  not  to  imagine  some 
romantic  story  about  him. 

Had  he  come  thither  in  the  sunset  to  imagine 
a  vision  of  prosperity  now  passed  away  ?  Did  he 
see  "  a  stately  pleasure  dome  "  where  we  beheld 
ruin  and  desolation  only?  Did  he  mistake  the 
breeze  that  whistled  through  the  loopholes,  and 
our  Prankish  talk,  for  gay  music  and  familiar 
voices  long  since  hushed? 

When,  a  little  later,  we  looked  back  from  the 
path  by  which  we  had  come,  he  was  still  in  his 
old  position.  I  felt  as  if  I  should  find  him  sitting 
amongst  the  ruins  a  hundred  years  hence,  could 
but  I  live  to  see ! 

With  a  large  and  most  animated  Anglo-French 
gathering,  theatricals  and  music  ended  my  first 
Christmas  in  Africa.  The  second,  as  will  be  seen, 
was  spent  under  utterly  different  circumstances. 


CHAPTER   IV 
A   VICE-IMPERIAL   COURT 


CHAPTER    IV 

A   VICE-IMPERIAL    COURT 

No  personages  could  less  resemble  their  Im- 
perial master  and  mistress  than  the  Governor  of 
Algiers  and  the  Marechale,  and  no  Vice-Imperial 
Court  could  less  resemble  the  Tuileries  than  that 
of  their  Winter  and  Summer  Palace. 

MacMahon's  predecessor  had  been  another 
Marshal,  Pelissier,  of  valiant  but  tarnished 
memory,  the  soldier  who  did  not  hesitate  to  suffo- 
cate five  hundred  helpless  Arabs  sheltering  in  a 
cave,  and — dire  offence  against  etiquette  as  the 
other  against  humanity — to  command  the  servants 
of  Queen  Victoria. 

It  was  in  1859  that  the  third  Napoleon  ill- 
advisedly  named  the  captor  of  the  Malakoff  his 
ambassador  at  St.  James's.  When  dining  with 
the  late  Queen  and  having  the  place  of  honour  on 
her  right  hand,  Pelissier  felt  a  draught  at  his  back, 
and  turning  round  shouted  stentoriously  to  the 
silk  stockinged  footman  close  by — 

"  Fermez  cette  fenetre." 

The  man,  wholly  taken  aback,  consulted  her 
Majesty,  who  smilingly  bade  him  shut  the  window 
in  question. 

43 


44  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

Rigidly  upright,  but  pitiless  in  warfare,  like 
Ney,  brave  of  the  brave,  this  old  soldier  was  given 
to  impermissible  gauloiseries  at  his  wife's  dinner- 
table,  uttering  doubles-ententes  that  would  have 
disgraced  a  cabaret. 

The  Marshal  and  Mme.  MacMahon  brought  a 
new  atmosphere  into  the  French- African  pro- 
consulate. What  the  Imperial  Court  was  like  we 
learn  from  the  pages  of  Prosper  Merimee — with 
one  exception — the  only  brilliant  writer  of  that 
dazzlingly  brilliant  period  who  did  not  repudiate 
the  Deux  Decewbre  and  its  author.  The  galaxy 
of  nineteenth-century  genius  shed  no  lustre  on  the 
French  Court.  Only  Merimee  and  Saint  Beuve 
preferred  compromise  to  prison,  enforced  exile  or 
aloofness. 

Those  who,  like  the  present  writer,  have  again 
and  again  seen  the  pseudo- Napoleon  and  his 
Spanish  wife  and  their  representatives  in  Algeria, 
would  remark  the  striking  divergence  of  type. 
Whilst  Louis  Napoleon  ever,  as  M.  Hanotaux 
writes,  wore  an  expression  of  incertitude  and 
questioning,  to  him  every  interlocutor4  being  a 
sphinx,  every  day,  every  hour  bringing  dread  of 
the  morrow,  MacMahon's  honest  face  was,  for  all 
who  could  read,  none  causing  him  uneasiness. 
The  austere,  straightforward,  one-speeched  soldier 
had  nothing  to  conceal  and  no  insoluble  problems 
perpetually  before  his  mind.  Nor  were  the  re- 
spective mistresses  of  the  two  Courts  less  unlike 


A  VICE-IMPERIAL   COURT          45 


each  other.  That  rarest  beauty,  a  golden-haired 
Spaniard,  whose  loveliness  as  she  passed  by 
seemed  to  scintillate  and  leave  a  trail  behind, 
may  perhaps  be  pardoned  many  things,  some 
would  call  them  fatalities.  For  France,  as  well 
as  for  herself,  natural  endowment,  transcendent 
loveliness  proved  indeed  a  dower  of  doom. 

Quite  another  personage  was  the  simple,  un- 
pretentious, yet  essentially  dignified  capable  little 
Marechale.  An  admirable  wife  and  mother, 
devoted  to  fireside  domesticities,  like  her  husband 
she  was  a  stern  upholder  of  propriety  and  decorum. 
Neither  scandal  nor  intrigue  were  allowed  to 
circulate  during  their  joint  rule,  and,  as  will  be 
seen  on  a  later  page,  both  could  play  a  heroic 
part.  Affable,  fond  of  society,  always  ready  to 
do  her  best  for  the  colony,  Mme.  de  MacMahon 
in  great  part  made  up  for  her  husband's  short- 
comings from  a  social  point  of  view. 

Taciturnity  personified,  the  Marshal  has  gone 
down  to  history  as  the  man  of  one  speech.  What 
rarer,  more  desirable  immortality? — than  in  an  age 
of  super  loquaciousness  to  have  uttered  one  sen- 
tence that  "the  world  will  not  willingly  let  die." 

Such  was  the  blunt,  unlettered  soldier's  happy 
fortune.  He  gained  one  victory  only — excepting 
that  last  and  far  greater  victory  over  himself  years 
later.  He  made  no  mark  as  a  colonial  governor, 
knew  naught  of  art,  literature,  Shakespeare  and 
the  musical  glasses.  But  a  single  sentence  which, 


46  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 


although  soldierly,  was  capable  of  a  thousand 
applications — the  famous,  "J'y  suis,  j'y  reste  " 
(Here  I  am,  here  I  stay),  will  keep  his  name  alive 
as  long  as  the  French  language  lasts. 

Thrice  happy  Marshal,  to  have  attained  undy- 
ing fame  by  means  of  two  vocables  and  two 
letters !  Of  course,  French  wits  made  merry  at 
the  Marshal's  expense.  Whenever  he  made  official 
progresses,  journalists  and  boulevardiers  followed 
him  on  the  look-out  not  for  what  he  said,  but  for 
what  he  omitted  to  say.  Especially  as  President 
did  his  monosyllabic  utterances  and  exploits  of 
taciturnity  minister  to  the  gaiety  of  nations. 

Thus  when  visiting  submerged  Toulouse,  the 
Garonne  having  surpassed  itself  in  the  matter  of 
inundation,  as  the  Marshal's  eye  surveyed  the 
deluge  he  only  ejaculated— 

"  Que  d'eau,  que  d'eau  !  "  (What  water !  what 
water !) 

On  another  occasion,  that  of  a  review,  a  negro 
subaltern  having  been  brought  to  his  notice  and 
summoned  to  the  Presidential  estrade,  his  only 
greeting  was  a  paternal— 

"So  you  are  the  negro  soldier?  Good-day, 
my  lad." 

Of  the  Marshal's  truly  Roman  No,  unuttered 
but  signified  by  a  sad  smile,  the  No  that  saved 
the  Republic  and  hindered  a  civil,  perhaps  a 
European  war,  I  speak  in  my  final  pages. 

I  never  extracted  so  much  as  a  single  word  from 


A   VICE-IMPERIAL   COURT  47 

my  distinguished  host  of  the  Winter  Palace,  nor 
did  I  ever  learn  that  others  were  more  fortunate. 
Mme.  la  Marechale,  on  the  contrary,  liked  con- 
versation, always  in  English  company  forsaking 
that  language  which  a  mediaeval  Venetian  fitly 
described  as  "plus  delectable  a  oiiir  que  nulle 
autre,"  for  such  insular  speech  and  even  slang  as 
would  come  in  her  way.  Thus  when  chatting  with 
Mme.  Bodichon  and  myself  at  one  of  her  recep- 
tions, and  seeing  quite  a  little  French  crowd 
on  the  staircase,  she  cried  regretfully,  "  Ah !  what 
a  bother,  there's  a  lot  of  people  coming  up," 
doubtless  the  colloquialisms  sounding  delightful 
in  her  ears.  Educated,  English-reading  French 
folks,  I  may  here  add,  do  not  care  a  brass  farthing 
for  the  choicest  phraseology  of  our  modern  or 
contemporary  stylists.  Teach  them  the  use  of 
"kiddies/3  "ripping,"  "a  cropper,"  and  so  on, 
and  you  make  them  your  debtors  for  ever.  A 
devout  Catholic,  the  Marechale  was  no  bigot. 
Thus  an  English  friend  wished  to  give  her 
children  some  story-books  written  by  a  fellow- 
countrywoman,  like  herself  at  this  time  a  guest  at 
the  official  receptions. 

"  I  should  mention,"  explained  my  friend,  "  that 
in  one  book  of  historic  stories  there  are  certain 
facts  reflecting  on  Roman  Catholicism." 

"  So  long  as  the  facts  are  historic,  my  children 
shall  read  them,"  was  Mme.  de  MacMahon's 
reply. 


48  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

The  little  boy  and  girl  would  sometimes  be 
brought  in  to  see  their  mother's  guests,  and 
nothing  pleased  her  better  than  a  quiet  tea,  a  little 
sketching  and  talk  about  pictures  with  the  lady 
artist  of  Mustapha  Superieure. 

After  Christmas  a  succession  of  gaieties  de- 
lighted the  English  colony,  what  with  residents 
and  visitors,  a  pretty  considerable  one. 

The  leading  event  of  a  particularly  gay  season 
was  a  fancy  ball  which,  although  picturesque  and 
splendid  in  the  extreme,  I  should  pass  over  but 
for  one  tragic  association.  My  friends  and  new- 
made  acquaintances  were  all  bent  upon  vindicat- 
ing insular  taste  upon  this  occasion,  and  for  days 
beforehand  all  was  busied  frivolity. 

The  drawing  mistress  of  the  Marechale,  already 
mentioned,  had  designed  for  herself  the  charming 
travesty  of  a1  summer  night,  in  other  words  a 
gown  of  dark-blue  silk  veiled  with  black  gauze, 
and  decorated  by  the  principal  constellations  cut 
out  in  gold  paper.  Some  one  suggested  that  a 
winter  day  would  form  a  fitting  companion,  and 
a  friend,  who  shall  be  nameless,  having  agreed  to 
be  thus  translated,  our  amateur  costumiers  at  once 
set  to  work. 

Amongst  these  was  an  accomplished  and  genial 
young  Austrian  doctor  or  medical  student,  I  forget 
which.  With  extremest  good-nature  and  no  little 
skill  he  manufactured  a  goodly  supply  of  icicles 
for  winter,  hours  being  spent  upon  the  work. 


MADAME  DE  MACMAHON 


[To  face  /.  49. 


A   VICE-IMPERIAL   COURT         49 

Merry  hours  they  were,  other  fabricators  of  fancy 
dress  and  adornments  keeping  him  company, 
some  cutting  out  Orion  and  his  train  or  the  Square 
of  Pegasus  in  gold  paper,  others  deftly  fashion- 
ing a  contadina's  head-dress  or  a  neckerchief  a 
la  Werther,  myself  alas !  alone  looking  idly  on. 

The  energy  of  the  young  Austrian  scientist  was 
delightful  to  behold,  and  his  determination  to 
bring  his  crystals  to  perfection  indicative  of 
character.  Trifling  as  was  the  task  in  hand,  one 
could  see  that  whatever  he  undertook  would  be 
carried  out  to  the  best  of  his  ability.  Gayest  of 
the  gay,  possessing  all  the  grace  and  distinction 
of  the  well-bred  Austrian,  well  advanced  in  his 
studies,  if  ever  a  fair  future  could  be  predicted 
of  any  adolescent  it  seemed  safe  in  his  case. 

And  a  few  months  later  he  fell  on  the  thrice 
accursed  field  of  Sadowa. 

I  have  often  thought  since  of  that  promising 
young  Austrian  doctor,  and  how  much  better  he 
was  employed  in  making  artificial  icicles  for  a 
fancy  ball  than  in  shooting  down  others,  full  of 
life,  hope  and  promise  as  himself,  and  of  offer- 
ing his  own  stalwart,  energetic  frame  as  food  for 
cannon.  Such  facts  bring  home  to  one  the 
diabolical  ineptitude  and  paganism  of  war. 

To  return  to  the  ball  and  two  other  features 
worthy  of  mention. 

The  pretty,  graceful  and  rather  -petite  Mare- 
chale  wore  a  symbolic  travesty  needing,  to  do 


50  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

credit  to  it,  "  some  daughter  of  the  gods  divinely 
tall,"  if  not  "divinely  fair."  It  was  no  historic 
character  that  she  represented,  but  the  colony  it- 
self, that  lovesome  land  of  Algeria  and  all  its 
products,  the  beautiful  and  serviceable  as  well  as 
the  savage  and  profitless.  Thus,  although  the 
famous  Bombonnel  had  already  rid  the  capital 
and  its  immediate  surroundings  of  the  most 
dreaded  beasts  in  the  colony,  Mme.  de  MacMahon 
wore  a  panther's  skin.  Forming  what  dress- 
makers call  a  panier,  the  exquisitely  mottled  pelt 
threw  all  other  ornamentations  into  the  shade. 
How,  indeed,  the  inexhaustible  resources  of  the 
colony  were  one  and  all  represented  in  a  single 
costume  I  cannot  say,  but  so  it  was.  The  lady 
not  only  advertised  the  fauna  and  flora  of  her 
husband's  pro-consulate,  but  the  wealth  of  ancient 
Rome's  granary.  She  was  indeed  a  living  cornuco- 
paeia,  a  goddess  of  plenty,  not  only  indebted  to 
Nature  but  to  the  milliner's  skill.  The  ordeal  of 
symbolism  over  much  was  bravely  confronted,  and 
beholders  expressed  delight  and  unqualified 
admiration. 

Another  noticeable  thing  about  that  gala  was 
the  presence  of  Arab  chiefs  and  magnates.  Amid 
the  brilliant  uniforms  of  French  officers,  military 
and  naval,  and  the  crowd  of  no  less  brilliant  mas- 
queraders,  moved  stately  Mohammedans,  affably 
received,  affable  to  all,  but  denizens  of  a  world 
apart.  In  their  long  white  burnouses,  not  in  the 


A   VICE-IMPERIAL   COURT          51 

least  little  particular  national  costume  being 
deviated  from,  one  and  all  towered  above  the 
rest  of  their  sex,  or  it  might  be,  seemed  to  do 
so,  by  virtue  of  superb  carriage  and  unmatchable 
dignity.  If  human  beings  were  made  only  to  be 
looked  at,  the  sons  of  the  desert  assuredly  bear 
the  palm. 

I  add  that  both  the  Summer  Night  and  the 
Winter  Day  were  pronounced  successes,  the  young 
Austrian  doctor  being  delighted  with  the  effect  of 
his  ice  crown,  girdles  and  pendants — powdered 
glass  sprinkled  at  the  last  moment  over  the  white 
dress  rendering  a  last  touch. 

A  few  days  later,  happily  without  fore-feeling 
of  his  doom,  he  sailed  for  Marseilles. 


£  8 


CHAPTER   V 
FfiTES    IN  HONOUR   OF   AISSAOUA 


CHAPTER    V 

FETES    IN    HONOUR   OF    AI'SSAOUA 

ONE  evening  my  Arabic  master  invited  me  to 
witness  one  of  those  strange  celebrations  with 
which  the  faithful  honour  their  saints.  With 
natural  enthusiasm  amid  such  surroundings,  I 
spent  odd  hours  in  writing  out  verbs  from  left 
to  right,  and  in  hammering  through  a  fable  of 
Lokman,  the  fabulist  beloved  of  the  Prophet. 
Aissaoua  was  a  poor  and  pious  mystic  who  in  the 
desert  commanded  his  famished  disciples  to  eat 
cactus-leaves  and  swallow  burning  coals,  and  that 
such  self-devotion  would  be  rewarded. 

Having  dined  animatedly  at  the  hotel,  a  party 
of  seven,  under  the  conduct  of  an  Arab,  we 
climbed  the  old  town. 

It  was  a  superb  night.  The  heavens  had  not 
a  cloud.  The  moon  shone  with  wonderful  bril- 
liance. As  we  followed  our  guide  through  street 
after  street,  so  narrow  as  to  admit  of  only  three 
or  four  people  passing  at  a  time,  the  light  and 
shadow  played  fantastic  tricks  on  every  side.  It 
was  difficult  to  believe  that  shadows  could  be  so 
real ;  still  more  difficult  to  believe  that  light  could 

55 


56  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

be  so  shadowy.  Sometimes  we  passed  a  round 
archway  un^er  which  lay  a  sleeping  figure,  rather 
two  sleeping  figures,  one  of  a  man,  the  other  of 
his  second  and  stranger  self. 

Sometimes  we  looked  up  at  the  white  radiance 
of  the  terraced  roofs,  doubting  whether  these 
could  be  other  than  visions,  so  unreal  did  they 
look  against  the  glowing  purplish  black  heavens. 

As  we  came  upon  a  couple  of  Moors  talking 
in  a  doorway,  every  line  of  their  white  drapery 
was  sharpened  in  the  marvellous  light  as  if  cut  out 
of  marble,  themselves  looking  more  shadowy  than 
any  shadow,  looking,  in  fine,  like  statues,  and  not 
in  any  degree  human  beings  with  ourselves. 

We  had  climbed  for  upwards  of  half-an-hour, 
when  our  guide  entered  a  mole-track  of  a  street 
and  stopped  at  a  house,  the  very  walls  of  which 
seemed  bursting  with  barbarous  music.  It  was 
so  dark  and  the  music  was  so  infernal,  that  I 
think  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  protection  of  three 
or  four  cavaliers  we  ladies  would  have  lost 
courage  and  run  away.  I  felt  a  terrible  coward, 
but  dared  not  own  it.  Following  our  guide,  we 
now  pressed  pell-mell  through  an  open  doorway 
and  grouped  our  way  within,  elbowed  and  jostled 
by  a  crowd  of  Arabs,  thin,  ragged,  clean  or  dirty, 
as  the  case  might  be.  Once  inside  we  found 
everything  bright,  cheerful  and  gala-like.  The 
court  was  spacious  and  spread  with  bright- 
coloured  carpets;  lights  were  abundant,  chairs 


FflTES   IN   HONOUR   OF   AlSSAOUA     57 

were  placed  for  the  better  order  of  spectators  in 
a  semicircle,  the  action  of  the  play  not  having 
yet  begun. 

Opposite  to  us  stood  about  fifty  men  in  a  circle, 
their  clothes  for  the  most  part  of  brilliant  colours, 
their  dark  faces  rapt  and  eager,  their  voices 
mingling  in  a  prayer,  of  which  the  name 
"Aissaoua,  Aissaoua,"  and  the  formula,  "  La- 
allah-illa-allah !"  "There  is  no  God  but  one 
God  !  "  formed  the  burden.  Behind  them  squatted 
three  or  four  musicians  evoking  diabolical  sound 
from  drum,  castagnettes,  and  tambour;  whilst  the 
doorway  through  which  we  had  come  grew  every 
moment  more  crowded  with  spectators — Jews, 
Turks,  and  Arabs,  mostly  of  somewhat  disreput- 
able appearance.  Only  one  or  two  French 
soldiers  kept  us  company. 

By  and  by,  coffee  was  prepared  in  a  little 
kitchen  close  behind  us  with  an  officiousness  of 
hospitality  delightful  to  witness. 

How  could  folks  have  prophesied  horrors  to 
us?  According  to  all  authorities,  learned  as  well 
as  familiar,  an  Aissaoua  fete  was  everything  that 
was  ghoul-like,  revolting  and  unearthly;  whereas 
we  were  treated  to  some  excellent  coffee,  a  pic- 
turesque assemblage,  and  some  extraordinary 
moonlight  effects.  But  when  coffee  had  been 
served,  a  new  spirit  began  to  animate  the 
musicians,  and  for  about  an  hour  they  subjected 
us  to  a  torture  impossible  to  describe.  Our  teeth 


58  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

were  slowly  drawn  one  by  one,  our  tympana  were 
beaten  and  bruised,  our  flesh  was  pricked  with 
infinitesimal  pins,  our  nerves  were  twisted  and 
strained  almost  beyond  endurance. 

In  the  midst  of  this  bogus  suffering,  which  we 
only  bore  because  we  hoped  for  a  reward  after- 
wards, came  a  shrill,  long-continued,  collective 
cry.  It  was  such  a  cry  as  some  antediluvian 
monster  like  the  Plesiosaurus  might  have  given 
when  swooping  on  its  prey,  and  I  looked  right 
and  left  wondering  in  vain  what  throat  could  have 
uttered  it.  Again  and  again  it  sounded  above 
drum  and  tambour,  the  unearthliest,  cruellest, 
most  horrible  applause  I  ever  heard  in  my  life; 
and  at  last  I  discovered  from  whence  it  came. 

The  court  in  which  we  were  seated  was  open, 
and  ranged  in  rows  around  the  uppermost  gallery 
were  a  dozen  or  so  women,  their  white  immovable 
figures  looking  like  ghosts  against  the  background 
of  the  dark  purple  sky,  their  muffled  faces  bent 
eagerly  over  the  balustrade.  The  voices  of  the 
women  seemed  to  act  like  poison  on  the  brain  of 
both  musicians  and  devotees.  The  tambours 
evoked  sounds  more  diabolical  still,  the  chants 
became  more  frantic.  At  last  the  spell  worked, 
and  one  of  the  men  broke  from  the  ring  and  began 
to  dance. 

And  what  a  dance !  One  was  reminded  of 
Goethe's  ballad  and  the  skeleton  that  performed 
such  weird  feats  on  moonlit  graves,  of  everything 


FETES   IN   HONOUR   OF   AISSAOUA     59 

fiendish  or  fantastic  that  the  imagination  of  man 
has  conceived. 

The  body  was  bent  backwards  and  forwards, 
the  head  was  shaken,  the  breast  was  struck  with 
a  frenzied  agility  and  recklessness,  till  the  per- 
former looked  as  unlike  anything  human  as  could 
possibly  be.  Now  his  head,  with  its  horrible  mass 
of  snaky  hair,  hung  backward  as  if  dislocated; 
now  his  breast  resounded  with  such  blows  that 
you  feared  some  blood-vessel  were  broken;  now 
he  whirled  to  and  fro,  yelling,  raging,  glaring. 

Soon  another  and  another  energumen  were 
seized  with  the  spirit,  and  now  the  sight  became 
truly  horrible.  The  dancers  caught  hold  of  each 
other  by  the  waist,  swaying  this  way  and  that, 
foaming  at  the  mouth,  wriggling  like  snakes, 
howling  like  hungry  wolves,  and  never  breaking 
the  frightful  Mezentian  union,  till  one  by  one  each 
fell  upon  the  ground  either  in  a  tetanic  swoon 
or  a  cataleptic  convulsion.  To  see  these  revolting 
figures  writhing  at  our  very  feet,  to  hear  the  shrill 
choruses  of  the  women  and  the  monotonous 
txchs-t-t-t-r-r-r-mmm — txchs-b-b-b-m-m-m  of  the 
musicians,  was  enough  to  drive  away  the  most 
inquisitive  ladies  in  the  world,  but  our  failing 
courage  was  filliped  by  such  whispers  as  these  : 
''  What  a  scene  for  you — a  painter,  or  for  you — 
an  author  !  >:  "  You  are  English  ladies,  and  own 
to  cowardice  ?  "  Or,  "  Oh  !  they  are  only  charla- 
tans, and  do  it  to  gain  soldi."  Or,  "  The  grand 


60  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

coup-de-bataille  is  yet  to  come.     We  have  seen 
really  nothing  as  yet." 

So  we  stayed,  not  without  dread.  If  this 
were  done  in  the  green  tree,  what  would  be  done 
in  the  dry  ?  In  the  little  cave  of  a  kitchen  behind 
us,  where  all  sorts  of  diabolical  preparations  were 
going  on?  There  was  a  fire-place  in  one  corner, 
and  the  Arab  who  had  prepared  our  coffee  now 
knelt  before  it,  heating  flat  pokers  among  the  red- 
hot  embers,  whilst  a  big  blue-black  negro  busied 
himself  complacently  among  fragments  of  glass, 
knives,  scorpions,  needles,  swords  and  broad 
leaves  of  the  prickly  cactus. 

Meantime,  the  devotees  recovered  from  their 
swoons  and  staggered  hither  and  thither,  contort- 
ing themselves  in  the  most  hideous  manner,  foam- 
ing at  the  mouth,  looking  as  the  evil  spirits  might 
have  looked  when  driven  out  of  the  swine.  And 
now  the  instruments  of  torture  were  exhibited,  the 
exulting  cry  of  the  women  rose  to  a  higher  pitch, 
the  Mussulman  crowd  became  ungovernably  en- 
thusiastic, and  the  followers  of  Aissaoua  were 
fired  with  the  spirit  of  faith. 

The  scene  now  grew  demonic.  The  Mokad- 
dem,  or  priest,  held  out  a  leaf  of  the  Barbary 
fig,  bristling  with  thorns  an  inch  in  length,  and 
his  disciples  knelt  round  him,  snapping,  biting, 
tearing  the  prickles  like  ravening  beasts.  Then 
a  basket  of  blazing  coals  was  brought  out,  and 
they  fell  upon  them  greedily,  rubbing  them 


FftTES    IN   HONOUR   OF   AtSSAOUA     61 


between  their  hands,  making  a  carpet  of  them  to 
dance  on,  grinding  them  between  their  teeth. 
One  terrible-looking  creature,  a  negro,  walked 
about  the  court  holding  in  his  mouth  a  red-hot 
cinder,  and  looking  like  nothing  so  much  as  the 
Devil  of  primitive  imagination.  Then  he 
dropped  it  on  the  ground  with  a  fiendish  cry, 
"Aissaoua,  Aissaoua,"  and  grovelled  over  the 
glowing  fragments,  picking  up  one  at  a  time  with 
his  teeth. 

But  the  worst  was  yet  to  come ;  for  now  red-hot 
irons  were  brought  from  the  fire,  with  which  they 
proceeded  to  seethe  and  scorch  themselves  in  a 
manner  perfectly  sickening.  They  applied  them 
carefully,  as  one  applies  a  plaster,  to  the  soles  of 
their  feet,  the  palm  of  their  hands,  the  flat  part 
of  their  arms;  and  all  this  was  done  with  an 
ecstatic  delirium  that  went  far  to  overthrow  the 
suspicion  of  charlatanry. 

The  smell  of  burning  flesh,  the  howls,  the 
groans,  the  contortions  of  the  Aissaoua,  the  uni- 
versal frenzy,  now  became  unendurable.  The 
men  of  our  party  jested  no  more,  but  looked  on 
as  horrified  as  ourselves;  the  ladies  huddled  to- 
gether, shrinking  from  the  wild  figures  yelling 
about  us,  and  only  longing  to  go. 

As  soon  as  exit  became  possible  we  made  our 
way  to  the  door,  having  sufficiently  supped  on 
horrors  for  one  night. 

How  delightful  to  breathe  the  fresh  air  of  the 


62  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

night  again,  and  leave  such  a  world  of  fantastic 
devilry  behind !  On  our  way  home  we  naturally 
discussed  the  claims  of  the  devotees  to  true  fan- 
aticism. One  who,  like  myself,  was  a  neophyte 
in  Algerian  experiences,  and  an  artist,  declared 
the  whole  affair  to  be  a  bit  of  barbaric  enthusiasm, 
fur  et  simple.  Our  young  Austrian  and  another 
medico  argued  on  the  same  side,  averring  that  as 
far  as  their  experiences  went,  no  Revivalism  was 
ever  more  sincere ;  adding,  ''  They  couldn't 
deceive  us  as  to  the  fainting  fit  and  the  bleeding 
mouths,  you  know."  A  French  artist,  and  a 
sceptic,  said  that  it  was  a  parcel  of  trickery  from 
first  to  last,  though,  as  his  little  wife  slyly  ob- 
served, he  had  early  proposed  a  retreat.  Another 
of  the  party,  long  resident  in  the  colony,  pro- 
nounced the  affair  to  be  quackery  and  religious 
fanaticism  mixed.  Lastly,  said  another,  "  They 
seemed  very  glad  to  collect  money  from  us,  which 
looks  very  much  as  if  they  made  a  trade  of  tor- 
menting themselves." 

Well,  after  all  that  is  said  and  done,  are  not 
cilices  and  scourges  seen  to-day  in  our  own  High 
Church  vicarages?  So  we  must  not  be  too  hard 
upon  the  disciples  of  Aissaoua. 


CHAPTER  VI 

KABYLIAN   SCENES  AND 
HOSPITALITIES 


CHAPTER   VI 

KABYLIAN    SCENES    AND    HOSPITALITIES 

BY  six  o'clock  one  bright  March  morning  I  set 
off  for  a  trip  in  Kabylia  with  four  friends,  namely, 
Mme.  Bodichon,  a  pleasant  young  barrister,  his 
sister  and  her  lady  companion,  two  carriages  and 
four  good  horses  with  relays  being  chartered  for 
the  expedition. 

At  this  stage  of  the  conquest  the  Kabyle,  or 
Berber,  was  a  universal  pet  throughout  the  colony. 
Settlers,  traders,  Jesuits,  Trappists,  no  matter 
your  interlocutor,  you  were  sure  to  hear  some  such 
comparison  as  this — 

"  There  is  no  kind  of  comparison  between  the 
Arab  and  the  Kabyle.  The  latter  builds  houses, 
plants  trees,  tills  the  ground  and  is  a  monogamist. 
His  wife  is  really  a  helpmeet,  not  a  mere  chattel 
or  beast  of  burden,  as  is  her  sister  the  Arab.  The 
Kabyle  is  a  first-rate  soldier,  as  has  been  proved 
in  the  Crimea,  Italy,  Senegal.  A  hundred  years 
hence  Kabyles  will  become  Frenchmen." 

But  as  Renan  has  truly  averred :  "  We  may 

without  exaggeration  attribute  to  the  Arab  half 

the  intellectual  heritage  of  humanity/'     Setting 

the  glories  of  Arab  science,  architecture,  learning 

F  65 


66  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

and  poetry  against  the  homelier  Berber  virtues  of 
stability  and  thrif tiness,  the  former  must  naturally 
kick  the  beam. 

Transcendently  grandiose  and  lovely  is  this 
plain  of  the  Metidja.  Lights  and  shadows  fall 
with  beautiful  effect,  white  villages  gleaming  amid 
oases  of  culture ;  every  bit  of  turf  is  kaleidoscopic 
with  wild  flowers,  and  in  contradistinction  to  the 
thousands  of  brilliant  flower-heads  we  move  amid 
a  solemn,  as  it  seems  interminable  immensity ! 

To  the  flowers  of  this  wonderful  land  I  devote 
a  separate  chapter. 

Without  engaging  society  and  the  delightful 
enjoyment — for  a  time — of  what  our  French 
friends  call  "une  vie  degagee"  (life  out  of 
harness),  the  Metidja  is  an  exhilarating  experi- 
ence. We  thought  of  Browning's  lines — 

"Oh,  the  wild  joys  of  living," 

here  drunk  in  with  every  breath. 

Our  drivers  managed  their  horses  well,  and  by 
five  o'clock  we  were  at  Tiziozou,  where  we  halted 
for  the  night,  early  next  morning  being  again  on 
the  road. 

The  journey  from  the  Metidja  and  ascent  to 
Fort  National  is  one  long  climb.  The  road 
wound  round  the  mountains  like  a  thread  twisted 
about  a  sugar-loaf.  We  looked  up,  and  said, 
"  Oh  !  it  is  impossible  that  we  can  get  there."  We 
looked  down  and  said,  "  Have  we  really  climbed 


KABYLIAN   SCENES  67 


so  high?"  And  still  we  crawled  higher  and 
higher  and  higher.  Everywhere  were  signs  of 
cultivation;  and  it  was  quite  touching  to  see 
how  laborious,  and  often  ineffectual,  was  the 
system. 

The  implements  were  of  the  clumsiest  kind, 
precisely,  I  dare  say,  as  when  Numidian  corn 
filled  Roman  granaries;  and  the  effect  of  the 
landscape  altogether  was  to  make  you  feel  carried 
back  to  the  times  of  Masinissa,  and  to  wonder 
how  the  place  could  be  so  peaceful. 

We  were  now  breathing  the  brisk  mountain  air, 
and  gaining  at  every  moment  a  wider  prospect  of 
the  distant  peaks  of  the  Djurdjura  and  the  ver- 
dant hills  and  valleys  on  every  side.  Nothing, 
perhaps,  could  be  more  exhilarating  than  such  a 
drive  with  such  an  object.  The  horses,  as  we  em- 
ployed relays,  were  fresh,  the  temperature  was  a 
delicious  medium  between  spring  and  summer; 
the  scenery  was  lovely  and  quiet,  and  suggestive 
of  a  golden  pastoral  life. 

It  was  difficult  to  conceive  what  a  different 
scene  we  should  have  traversed  only  a  few 
decades  back.  These  mountain-passes  and  lovely 
valleys  were  then  alive  with  the  sound  of  guns  and 
the  flash  of  swords,  and  few  and  far  between  were 
the  villages  that  escaped  the  scourge  of  war.  The 
Kabyles,  incited  by  a  fanatic,  named  Bon  Bapla, 
fought  well,  but  the  sight  of  their  ruined  crops 
and  burning  olive-woods  sooner  than  anything 


F  2 


IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 


else  inclined  them  to  peace,  and  there  seems  no 
likelihood  of  it  being  again  broken. 

By  and  by,  our  driver  turned  round  with  a 
joyful  face,  and  cried,  "  Voila  Fort  National," 
and  stretching  our  necks  and  shading  our  eyes 
we  did  indeed  see  a  white  speck  on  the  mountain 
before  us. 

A  little  later,  and  we  drove  into  the  quiet  fort 
and  alighted  at  the  best  inn  it  boasted  of,  to  the 
infinite  curiosity  of  some  Kabyles  lounging  about. 
Despite  some  drawbacks,  such  as  a  saloon 
crowded  to  the  last  inch  with  French  soldiers 
playing  billiards,  Kabyles  and  all  kinds  of  mis- 
cellaneous travellers,  tiny  bedrooms,  only  ap- 
proached by  a  staircase  built  outside,  with  holes 
in  the  roof,  in  the  walls,  and  in  the  floor,  we  made 
ourselves  very  comfortable  at  what  was  formerly 
Fort  Napoleon.  The  landlord  and  landlady  did 
their  best  to  please  us,  and  after  they  had  served 
our  dinner,  chatted  to  us  over  their  own  at  the 
next  table.  The  food  was  wholesome  and  the 
beds  excellent. 

And  we  had  a  very  pleasant  time.  M.  le  Com- 
mandant, to  whom  we  were  provided  with  official 
letters  introductory,  received  us  kindly,  and  with 
great  amiability  consented  to  be  looked  upon  as  a 
sort  of  encyclopaedia  concerning  Kabyle  affairs. 
He  was  a  pleasant,  learned  man,  who  had  lived 
long  among  the  Kabyles,  and  had  busied  himself 
with  collecting  such  disjecta  membra  of  their 


KABYLIAN   SCENES  69 

grammatical  language  as  yet  remain.  It  was 
delightful  to  hear  him  talk  of  the  people,  and 
their  prospects,  much  as  if  he  were  their  father; 
and,  unassuming  though  he  was,  one  could  see 
that  he  had  proved  a  benefactor  to  them.  He 
spoke  very  hopefully  of  the  Kabyle  arboriculture, 
and  told  us  that  he  had  found  the  people  skilful 
in  grafting  several  kinds  of  fruit  trees  introduced 
by  himself. 

When  our  talk  with  the  Commandant  was  over, 
Madame,  accompanied  by  a  young  lady,  wife  of 
the  chef  du  bureau  Arabe,  did  the  honours  of  the 
place.  A  terrific  north  wind  had  arisen  since  our 
arrival,  accompanied  with  heavy  showers,  and  we 
felt  quite  sorry  for  all  that  the  poor  ladies  endured 
in  our  behalf.  We  were  driven  hither  and  thither ; 
our  umbrellas  were  turned  inside-out;  our  faces 
were  all  but  skinned;  it  was  impossible  to  stir  a 
step  till  the  blast  had  passed.  I  think  one  must 
travel  to  Fort  National  before  understanding 
what  a  north  wind  can  be. 

There  was,  of  course,  a  little  new  church,  and 
a  tiny  shop  containing  groceries  and  Kabyle 
pottery;  and  a  big  barracks,  and  a  splendid 
panoramic  view  of  the  country  to  see.  But  what 
interested  us  far  more  just  then  was  the  everyday 
life  here,  as  described  by  our  friends. 

The  wife  of  the  chef  du  bureau  'Arabe  was  a 
young,  pretty  and  elegant  lady,  who  had  only  left 
Paris  a  year  or  two  before.  I  naturally  asked  a 


70  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

question  or  two  concerning  the  amusements  at 
Fort  Napoleon :  Were  there  military  concerts, 
balls,  picnics,  or  any  available  gaieties  within 
reach?  She  gave  a  little  scream  of  laughter. 

"  Balls  at  Fort  Napoleon  !  "  she  said.  "  Why, 
there  are  only  three  ladies  here,  Madame  la 
Commandante,  Madame  the  Captain's  wife,  and 
myself  !  And,  unfortunately,  we  have  no  band ; 
but  we  console  ourselves  as  well  as  we  can,  and 
are  capital  neighbours  to  each  other." 

"  I  dare  say  you  often  have  visits  of  friends 
from  Algiers  ?  " 

"Pardon,  very  seldom  indeed.  It  is  so  far 
and  the  journey  is  so  tedious.  We  are  not  dull, 
however,  for  we  have  our  husbands  and  children 
with  us,  and  lead  a  very  tranquil  life  on  the 
whole." 

The  elder  lady  was  equally  philosophical,  and 
both  entered  with  interest  into  the  subject  of 
Kabyle  idiosyncrasy  and  character.  It  was 
evident  that  they  had  taken  pains  to  learn  some- 
thing of  their  adopted  country,  and  that  they 
made  exile  as  bright  as  was  possible.  They  told 
us  of  many  and  many  an  incident  that  had  marked 
their  monotonous  life  like  a  milestone,  always 
speaking  kindly  of  the  Kabyles. 

"  They  are  excellent  creatures,"  said  the  young- 
est lady,  with  a  pretty  moue  of  dissatisfaction — 
"  if  they  only  washed  themselves  !  3' 

I  think  nothing  does  away  with  the  patented 


KABYLIAN   SCENES  71 

notions  of  French  ladies  sooner  than  some  expe- 
rience of  them  in  these  hill  stations.  We  grew 
up  with  the  idea  that  a  Frenchwoman  is  brilliant, 
elegant,  but  a  plaything  only,  and  with  difficulty 
believe  her  adapted  for  a  domestic  life  under 
circumstances  of  peculiar  hardship.  During  my 
travels  in  Algeria,  I  made  the  acquaintance  of 
many  women  living  in  out-of-the-way  military 
stations,  and  must  say  that  I  never  anywhere 
received  a  more  distinct  impression  of  good  wives, 
careful  mothers,  and  capable  as  well  as  graceful 
housekeepers. 

Fortunately,  the  wind  dropped  that  night,  or 
we  should  have  seen  very  little  of  Kabylia.  As 
it  was,  we  woke  up  to  a  glorious  day,  cold  but 
bright,  and  saw  the  sun  lighting  up  a  score  of  soft 
green  valleys  and  violet  peaks  tipped  with  snow. 

Which  way  should  we  go?  Eastward,  west- 
ward? We  descended  from  the  height  on  which 
Fort  National  stands,  neat  little  roads  leading  on 
each  side  to  some  eyrie  of  a  Kabyle  village. 
Chance  led  us  in  the  direction  of  a  shady  path 
that  wound  round  the  fort,  dipped  sheer  into  a 
valley,  and  then  climbed  towards  a  cluster  of 
cosy  little  houses,  surrounded  by  fig  and  olive 
orchards. 

Nothing  could  equal  the  variety  and  magnifi- 
cence of  the  scenery  that  seemed  to  shift  at  every 
turning.  The  sunny  hills  crested  with  villages; 
the  fair  and  fertile  fields  that  lay  below;  the 


72  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

distant  range  of  lofty  mountains  standing  out,  as 
if  of  amethyst,  against  the  cool  blue  sky.  Such  a 
prospect  could  but  make  us  linger  lovingly  and 
regretfully,  since  we  felt  sure  that  we  should  never 
see  it  again. 

When  we  came  near  the  village,  a  troop  of  girls 
and  children  gathered  shyly  about  us;  one  or  two 
scampered  home  to  tell  of  our  arrival,  and  by 
and  by  we  found  ourselves  in  a  circle  of  simple, 
wandering  creatures,  all  smiling,  shy  and  dumb. 

They  were  for  the  most  part  good-looking,  with 
healthful  complexions  and  plenty  of  intelligence ; 
women  and  children  were  dressed  alike,  in  dark 
blue  woollen  kaiks,  or  shawls  some  yards  in 
breadth,  which  were  fastened  on  the  shoulders 
with  a  brooch  and  round  the  waist  by  a  coloured 
girdle.  These  garments  reached  to  the  ankle,  and 
they  wore  no  kind  of  shoe.  But  this  clumsy  garb 
was  brightened  by  all  kinds  of  rude  jewellery, 
such  as  chains,  bracelets  and  anklets  of  silver, 
coral,  palm-seeds,  shells,  coins,  glass  beads  and 
berries.  The  proud  mothers  of  sons  were  distin- 
guished by  a  circular  brooch,  or  fibula,  of  very 
gay  metal-work,  fastened  in  front  of  their  head- 
dress; and  some  of  the  ornaments  were  really 
pretty  and  valuable.  Most  of  them  had  a  cross 
tattooed  on  the  brow,  which  is  said  to  be  the  relic 
of  an  early  Christian  faith  once  existing  among 
these  mountains.  After  a  little,  their  shyness 
wore  off,  and  though  the  French  of  the  whole 


KABYLIAN   SCENES  73 

party  amounted  to  "  Bon  jour,"  and  the  Arabic  of 
our  own  to  a  few  words,  we  got  on  very  well. 
The  children  grinned  and  gesticulated,  the  girls 
tittered,  the  women  examined  our  dresses,  cloaks 
and  hats  with  enthusiastic  wonder. 

There  was  one  charming  creature  about  five- 
and-twenty  who  seemed  to  be  the  oracle  as  well 
as  the  life  of  the  party.  She  had  bright  cheeks 
and  lips,  large  grey  eyes  beaming  with  intelli- 
gence, and  a  frank,  broad  brow  that  told  plainly 
enough  how  very  little  education  would  fit  her 
for  the  very  best  kind  of  civilization.  There  was 
not  a  hint  or  shadow  of  shame  in  her  bright  face 
as  she  compared  our  European  garb  to  her  own, 
and  evidently  our  condition  too;  for  she  turned 
to  one  of  her  companions  and  seemed  to  sum  up 
a  hasty  verdict,  whether  in  our  favour  or  her  own 
we  could  not  tell. 

It  amused  her  immensely  that  we  should  be 
so  amused,  and  she  plainly  thought  us  a  little 
impertinent  for  trying  to  buy  some  of  her  neck- 
laces. Sell  her  jewels,  forsooth,  and  above  all, 
the  brooch  she  wore  in  honour  of  having  borne 
her  husband  a  male  child ;  what  were  we  good  for, 
to  dream  of  such  absurdities?  This  was  said  as 
plainly  as  looks  can  say  rather  cutting  things ;  but 
a  moment  after  she  was  all  fun  and  friendliness 
again,  making  the  utmost  of  our  precious  little 
store  of  Arabic,  and  ready  to  tell  us  anything  and 
everything — could  we  only  have  understood ! 


74  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

Some  of  the  girls  held  out  their  hands  begging, 
"  Soldi,  soldi,"  but  she  was  far  too  proud,  and 
when  one  of  us  touched  her  bracelet  with  a  linger- 
ing look  of  admiration,  she  gave  a  wicked  little 
"  Phew !  "  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Don't  you  wish 
you  may  get  it  ?  "  One  or  two  women  were  only 
too  eager  to  sell  their  ornaments,  but  expected  a 
handful  of  money  in  return. 

We  wandered  about  the  village,  which  was  not 
so  enticing  as  it  had  promised  to  be.  The 
orchards  were  fresh  and  balmy  enough,  but  the 
interiors  had  an  unsavoury  and  unwholesome 
look;  there  was  no  appearance  of  whitewash,  and 
the  furniture  consisted  of  a  little  pottery  and  some 
mats.  Babies  tumbled  about  among  the  goats, 
apparently  as  uncared  for ;  heaps  of  refuse  pained 
the  eye  and  nose  at  every  corner,  and  we  felt 
constrained  to  look  away  towards  the  shiny  hills 
and  snowy  mountains.  Want  of  cleanliness  was 
the  blot  on  the  idyllic  picture  of  Kabyle  life. 

Soon  after  leaving  this  little  village  we  crossed 
a  broad  river  bed,  and  then  entered  a  wholly  new 
and  equally  beautiful  region.  The  road — such 
a  road  as  only  French  military  roads  can  be — 
wound  corkscrew  fashion  about  the  hills,  which 
were  verdant  from  base  to  summit.  Now  we 
passed  under  a  natural  arch  of  olive  boughs ;  now 
we  came  upon  a  sunny  plateau  with  fields  of  corn 
and  orchards  of  the  fig  tree,  the  plum  and  the 
almond  on  either  side.  Everywhere  smiled  a 


KABYLIAN   SCENES  75 

happy  Nature;  everywhere  was  the  evidence  of 
peace  and  plenty.  As  we  advanced  more  and 
more,  traces  of  French  innovation  disappeared, 
and  instead  of  the  straight  little  houses  with  their 
rows  of  carob  trees,  new  church  and  handsome 
drinking  fountain,  we  saw  on  every  crest  and 
mountain-top  a  Kabyle  village,  looking,  I  dare 
say,  precisely  as  a  Kabyle  village  looked  a 
thousand  years  ago.  Anything  more  picturesque 
and  poetic  than  the  scenery  of  Grand  Kabylia 
cannot  be  conceived.  The  lovely  hills,  purple, 
green  or  golden  as  the  light  made  them,  each 
crowned  with  a  compact  mass  of  tiny  stone  cots, 
the  deep  valleys  of  tender  green,  the  lofty  rocks 
bristling  with  wild  cactus,  the  groves  of  majestic 
olives,  the  distant  panorama  of  blue,  snow-tipped 
mountains — all  these  features  made  pictures  not 
easy  to  forget. 

The  road  which  our  brave  little  horses  climbed 
so  gaily  was  very  solitary,  and  wound  for  the  most 
part  between  a  sharp  ravine  and  precipitous  rocks, 
feathered  with  almond  and  plum  trees.  Now  and 
then  we  passed  a  group  of  men  resting  with  their 
working  implements  by  the  wayside,  stalwart, 
simple,  strange-looking  beings,  who  would  greet 
us  with  a  stare  and  a  word  of  broken  French  or 
Arabic. 

At  first  the  comparison  of  Arab  and  Kabyle  is 
by  no  means  flattering  to  the  latter.  The  Arab 
is  always  a  grandee,  by  reason  of  his  personal 


76  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

beauty,  dress  and  dignified  manner;  whilst  the 
Kabyle,  with  his  ragged  shirt,  leathern  apron, 
ungraceful  proportions  and  square,  homely 
features,  could  be  no  more  trimmed  into  dandyism 
than  a  camel.  But,  after  a  time,  observers  who 
are  of  a  practical  turn  will  perhaps  prefer  the 
physique  that  argues  indomitable  strength  and 
perseverance  to  all  the  elegance  in  the  world,  and 
will  side  with  every  writer  who  has  written  a 
panegyric  on  the  Kabyles. 

As  we  were  returning,  a  touching  incident 
brought  home  to  us  all  that  we  had  heard  and 
read  of  Kabyle  hospitality.  By  the  wayside  sat 
a  withered  old  woman,  having  on  her  knee  a 
basket  of  dried  figs;  she  was  talking  to  a  fine, 
stalwart,  well-dressed  young  fellow,  who  bent  over 
her  pityingly,  and  to  me  it  seemed,  rather  con- 
descendingly. We  stopped  to  interchange  a 
greeting  with  them,  and,  finding  the  young  man 
tolerably  conversant  with  French,  were  enabled 
to  carry  on  quite  a  conversation.  The  woman 
stared  at  us,  and  prattled  about  our  queer  cos- 
tumes with  the  simple  garrulity  of  age,  but  her 
companion  held  up  his  head,  and  evidently  con- 
sidered a  Kabyle  equal  to  a  Frank  any  day. 
When  our  chat  had  come  to  an  end,  the  kindly 
old  creature  doled  out  her  figs  to  us  as  a  parting 
gift,  evidently  delighted  at  our  acceptance  of 
them.  Of  course  the  figs  were  worth  a  sou  or 
two  only,  but  she  had  nothing  else  to  give,  and 


KABYLIAN   SCENES  77 

evidently  could  ill  afford  them,  so  that  we  had 
double  right  to  be  grateful. 

Tourists  bring  home  carved  ivory  from  Dieppe, 
mosaics  from  Florence,  and  pottery  or  arms  from 
Kabylia.  The  pottery  (of  which  there  are  now 
specimens  in  the  South  Kensington  Museum)  is 
quaint  and  highly  interesting,  whether  you  con- 
sider it  from  the  artistic  or  manufacturer's  point 
of  view.  Water-jars,  vases,  lamps,  dishes  and  an 
infinite  variety  of  vessels  either  for  use  or  orna- 
ment were  to  be  had  in  the  little  general  shop  at 
Fort  National,  and,  for  the  most  part,  at  nominal 
prices.  This  ware  is  all  of  dark  rich  red  and 
yellow,  patterned  in  black.  No  two  pieces  of 
pottery  or  patterns  are  precisely  alike;  and  both 
design  and  manipulation  of  the  clay  are  the  work 
of  women.  It  is  said  that  those  who  excel  in  this 
art  are  much  esteemed,  however  they  may  be 
wanting  in  grace  or  loveliness — which  certainly 
speaks  a  good  deal  for  Kabyle  common  sense. 

I  have  read  somewhere  that  a  Kabyle  was  one 
day  selling  a  beautiful  lamp  and  some  vases, 
when  a  neighbour  came  up,  and  cried  in  his 
enthusiasm — 

"  By  the  head  of  the  Prophet,  I  would  give  a 
thousand  douros  for  a  woman  with  such  taste !  " 

"You  shall  have  her  for  the  half,"  said  the 
merchant,  and  without  ado  he  brought  the  poor 
artist  forward.  She  was,  however,  so  ugly  that 
the  lover  of  fine  art  took  to  his  heels. 


78  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

The  colours  are  fixed  on  the  clay  by  means  of 
resin  mixed  with  a  little  olive  oil,  and  which,  as 
the  -earth  is  yellowish  to  begin  with,  forms  the 
yellow.  The  red  is  given  by  an  ochre  found  in 
the  country ;  and  for  the  black  they  have  recourse 
to  fat  or  resinous  bodies  in  ignition.  With  such 
simple  materials  it  is  marvellous  what  pretty 
things  these  Kabyle  potters  produce;  and  they 
do  not  confine  themselves  to  the  ornamental  only, 
making  pipkins  for  cooking,  large  jars  for  oil,  and 
all  kinds  of  smaller  ones  for  honey,  milk  and 
butter. 

The  arms  and  weapons  were  no  less  interesting 
to  us,  though  less  easy  to  purchase  and  bring 
home,  being  heavy,  and,  of  course,  expensive  in 
comparison  to  the  pottery.  These  rude  moun- 
taineers have  certainly  had  a  village  Ruskin 
among  them  at  some  time  or  another,  to  inculcate 
the  worship  of  the  Beautiful.  Not  an  implement 
of  whatever  metal  or  make  but  was  ornamented 
wherever  ornamentation  was  possible;  and  we 
unwillingly  left  behind  us  a  beautiful  but  cumber- 
some gun,  to  be  had  for  a  hundred  francs.  It  was 
most  curiously  and  artistically  worked,  and  richly 
inlaid  with  coral.  Short  daggers  were  to  be  had 
in  plenty,  of  very  bad  metal  for  the  most  part, 
though  valuable  on  account  of  the  workmanship 
and  taste  displayed. 


CHAPTER  VII 
RAMADHAN 


CHAPTER   VII 

RAMADHAN 

IF  the  great  Fast  of  the  Ramadhan  is  gloomy 
and  depressing,  to  the  celebrants  at  least  it  comes 
in  and  goes  out  gaily  enough.  The  negroes  take 
the  opportunity  of  decking  themselves  out  and 
driving  through  the  town,  their  houris  put  on  silks 
and  gauzes,  and  dance  all  night,  their  wise  women 
practise  a  barbarous  kind  of  Fetishism  on  the  sea- 
shore; while  the  Moorish  ladies  make  an  infinity 
of  sweets  and  pasties,  and  invite  all  their  lady 
friends  to  a  feast. 

The  negroes  being  a  very  sociable  set  of  people, 
it  is  much  easier  to  join  in  their  gaieties  than  in 
those  of  the  secluded  Moors.  I  am,  therefore, 
indebted  to  them  for  my  share  in  the  festivities 
preceding  Ramadhan.  Why  the  negroes,  who 
still  practise  necromancy  brought  from  the  Sahara, 
should  dance  out  their  evil  spirits,  and  propitiate 
their  demons  at  this  particular  time,  I  don't  know ; 
but  upon  any  and  every  public  holiday  or  re- 
joicing, you  are  sure  to  hear  their  music  and  see 
their  finery. 

A  few  days  before  Ramadhan,  we  were  guided 
by  a  nice  old  negress  wrapped  in  blue  drapery  to 
G  8r 


82  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

a  Moorish  house  in  the  old  town,  where  we  were 
assured  some  wonderful  things  were  to  be  seen. 
As  we  passed  through  the  dark  passage  leading  to 
the  court,  one  or  two  negresses  were  coming  out, 
and  their  nudge  and  look,  as  promising  amuse- 
ment, were  very  encouraging. 

We  found  the  court,  as  usual,  open  to  the  sky, 
and  despite  the  crowds  thronging  it  on  every  side, 
not  unbearably  warm.     In  the  centre  was  a  group 
of  negresses,  dressed  in  flimsy  muslins  and  gauzes, 
whilst  the  gallery  looking  upon  the   court  was 
crowded    with    Arabs,    Jews,    Zouaves,    French 
soldiers,  and  miscellaneous  spectators.     A  miser- 
able little  calf,  to  be  sacrificed  and  afterwards 
eaten,  lay  in  a  dark  corner;  and  as  we  made  our 
way  along,  we  could  hardly  help  treading  on  some 
poor  fowls,  tied  by  the  legs,  that  lay  here  and 
there,  awaiting  the  same  fate.     A  band  of  musi- 
cians, with  an  expression  of  the  utmost  solemnity 
upon  their  shining  black  faces,  sat  on  the  floor, 
making  just  the  sort  of  music  to  give  novices  a 
shudder.     Indeed,  mild  toothache  is  a  pleasing 
pain  compared  with  the  endurance  inflicted  by  the 
negro,  who  feels  himself  all  the  more  important, 
and  all  the  more  likely  of  extra  payment,  for  being 
noisy.     He  has  brought  from  the  Soudan  a  taste 
for  those  terrible  iron  castanets,  called  keg-ka- 
kef,  a  word  derived  from  the  sound  evoked  from 
them;  and  if  any  one  will  take  the  trouble  to  get 
the  Sunday-school  children  of  his  parish  to  repeat 


RAMADHAN  83 


this  word  till  they  are  hoarse,  he  will  have  some 
idea  of  it. 

Finding  ourselves  a  little  too  much  elbowed, 
and  being  affectionately  invited  up-stairs  by  every 
negress  who  could  get  near  enough  to  nudge  us, 
we  climbed  two  pairs  of  winding  stone  steps,  and 
saw;  the  rest  of  the  performances  from  the  terrace. 

We  had  the  top  of  the  house  all  to  ourselves, 
which  was  a  great  comfort,  and,  though  the 
sun  was  warm,  and  the  brilliant  light  of  the  sur- 
rounding white  roofs  glaring,  the  air  was  quite 
fresh. 

Irrespective  of  the  sight  below,  the  terrace  was 
picturesque  and  interesting  enough  to  have  kept 
us  there  a  little  while.  The  blue  mountains  in  the 
distance,  the  bits  of  foliage  breaking  the  white 
house-roofs  here  and  there,  the  dark-eyed  Moorish 
girls  peeping  over  the  neighbouring  walls,  the 
flowers  and  fruit  trees  trellised  about  us — all  these 
formed  a  new  and  curious  picture. 

But  the  music  from  below,  and  the  dancing  that 
accompanied  it,  compelled  our  attention.  The 
dance  was  by  no  means  ungraceful,  and  consisted 
in  undulating  movements  of  the  arms  and  body, 
whilst  the  music  recommended  itself  by  an  unin- 
termittent  succession  of  surprises.  For  it  is 
impossible  to  get  used  to  negro  music.  What 
affected  you  like  galvanism  yesterday,  affects  you 
no  less  to-day;  what  sent  a  thrill  of  unexpected 
horror  through  every  fibre  of  your  body  five 


G  2 


84  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

minutes  ago,  will  have  just  the!  same  effect  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  hence. 

We  were  inclined  to  endure  any  torments, 
moreover,  for  the  sake  of  the  curious  and  mystic 
ceremonies  to  come.  Who  could  help  wishing  to 
see  the  sacrifices,  horrid  as  they  might  be  ?  One 
thought  of  the  grand  old  Greek  times,  with  the 
fancy  that  here  there  might  be  something  to 
remind  one  of  the  goats  without  blemish,  or  of 
the  firstling  lambs  offered  to  Phoebus  Apollo  in 
Homeric  story. 

But  the  poor  little  calf  in  the  corner,  which 
had  no  sort  of  dignity  about  it,  being  bony  and 
bristly,  and  altogether  un-Homeric,  was  kept  as 
the  bonne  bouche  of  the  entertainment — which  we 
did  not  see.  Hour  after  hour  passed,  dancer  after 
dancer  fell  back  exhausted  on  her  seat,  and  we 
kept  asking,  "When  is  the  sacrifice  to  take 
place  ? "  when  at  last  patience  gave  way,  and  we 
went  home,  wondering  at  the  long  endurance  of 
people  who  were  content  to  dance  and  sing,  and 
voluntarily  torment  themselves  for  twelve  hours 
in  succession.  These  dances  are  not  nearly  so 
weird  and  fanciful  as  other  negro  ceremonies  that 
precede  the  great  Fast. 

These  sorceries  take  place  on  the  seashore, 
and  are  too  extraordinary  not!  to  attract  every 
stranger  in  Algiers.  Morning  after  morning, 
every  omnibus  bound  to  the  pretty  suburban  vil- 
lage of  St.  Eugene,  is  filled  to  the  last  corner 


RAMADHAN  85 


with  negresses  carrying  cocks  to  the  sacrifice,  with 
Jewish  and  Moorish  women  dressed  in  their  best, 
and  witK  inquisitive  spectators  like  ourselves, 
intent  upon  seeing  everything. 

By  eight  o'clock  one  fresh  morning,  we  were 
rattling  away  towards  St.  Eugene.  In  company 
with  us  was  a  handsome  Quadroon  woman,  carry- 
ing a  pair  of  lean  chickens,  and  an  Arab  and  his 
wife,  all  evidently  very  serious  about  the  impend- 
ing ceremony,  and  the  part  they  were  to  take  in 
it.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  we  felt  the  brisk 
breezes  blowing  off  the  Mediterranean,  and 
alighted  to  find  ourselves  in  a  scene  wholly  new 
and  almost  indescribable. 

The  bit  of  coast  selected  for  the  ceremonies 
reminded  me  of  Cornwall.  A  line  of  dark  rocks, 
broken  into  stepping-stones  where  the  tide  was 
low,  a  little  cove  of  glistening  white  sand  here,  a 
delicious  rise  of  bright  green  turf  there,  a  perspec- 
tive of  shelving  cliffs  and  creamy  billows — except 
for  the  aloes,  I  could  have  fancied  myself  at  the 
Lizard. 

Descending  a  steep  path  that  wound  amid  a 
hollow  to  the  shore,  we  were  at  once  plunged  into 
the  midst  of  sorceries  and  mysticisms  past  count- 
ing. For  the  first  few  minutes  the  colour  only, 
and  no  hidden  meaning  of  the  scene,  was  plain  to 
us.  We  felt  as  if  we  had  hitherto  been  blind, 
the  purples,  and  reds,  and  yellows  seemed  so  near 
our  eyes.  This  distinctness  of  each  separate  bit 


86  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

of  brilliancy  had  never  struck  me  in  the  same 
degree  before;  perhaps  because  this  was  the  first 
time  I  had  ever  seen  such  a  variety  of  complexion 
and  costume  in  bright  sunlight.  The  Quadroons 
with  their  lustrous  gold-brown  skins  and  blue 
drapery,  the  Jewesses  with  their  black  hair  and 
crimson  brocades,  the  little  Moorish  girls  with  their 
crocus-coloured  shawls,  pink  trousers,  and  fingers 
dyed  rose  colour  with  henna,  the  negresses 
with  their  black  cheeks  and  green  haiks,  I  had 
seen  a  hundred  times,  but  never  before  assembled 
against  a  background  of  bright  blue  sea  and 
sky. 

We  descended  the  hollow  slowly,  impatiently 
elbowed  by  believers  in  the  Djinns  or  spirits,  here 
to  be  exorcised  or  appeased.  The  spot  itself  is 
consecrated  to  seven  Djinns  presiding  over  seven 
springs,  the  waters  of  which  are  held  to  be  of 
miraculous  effect.  Very  likely  there  is  as  much 
of  science  as  superstition  in  this,  for  mineral 
springs  of  real  efficacy  are  found  elsewhere  in 
Algeria. 

There  were  many  priestesses  in  this  strange 
worship — witch-like  old  negresses,  who  wrought 
all  their  magic  by  the  aid  of  a  cauldron,  a  handful 
of  fire,  and  a  little  incense.  Rows  of  tiny  wax- 
lights  were  stuck  in  the  ground  before  them,  and 
here  childless  wives  paid  a  few  sous,  sipped  the 
enchanted  water,  and  went  away  believing  in  the 
advent  of  future  sons;  garments  of  sick  people 


RAMADHAN  87 


were  miraculously  endued  with  the  power  of  heal- 
ing, children  were  cured  of  burns  and  bruises, 
cripples  were  cured  of  rheumatism,  and  lovers  of 
coldness.  Even  one  or  two  Frenchwomen  were 
come  to  ensure  themselves  some  boon  not  obtain- 
able in  a  legitimate  way. 

Leaving  the  Moorish  enchantresses,  we  next 
turned  to  the  negro  priests,  old  men  in  tattered 
shirts,  seated  amid  crowds  of  devotees,  and  each 
forming  the  centre  of  a  cruel  and  curious  scene. 
Once  fairly  among  these  tatterdemalion  brothers 
of  Calchas,  we  found  it  impossible  to  stir  a  step 
or  glance  in  any  direction  without  the  contact  of 
newly  shed  blood.  It  was  horridness  incarnate. 
The  bright  red  stains  were  everywhere,  crimsoned 
feathers  were  blown  in  our  faces,  and  from  that 
time,  until  we  came  to  that  of  departure,  hapless 
cocks  were  half  killed  and  thrown  towards  the  sea. 
If  the  poor  creatures  flutter  seaward  in  their  dying 
struggle,  the  omen  is  propitious,  and  the  women 
shout  their  horrid  yoo,  yoo,  yoo  of  joy;  but  if  they 
flutter  landward,  another  pair  of  fowls  is  swung 
backward  and  forward  by  the  priest,  incantations 
are  muttered  over  it,  and  the  sacrifice  is  performed 
afresh.  There  were  goats  also,  which  met  the 
same  fate,  and  were  skinned  and  cut  up  in  in- 
describable haste,  destined,  as  well  as  the  cocks, 
to  furnish  the  feast  at  night. 

It  was  past  ten  o'clock  when  we  left.  Negroes, 
Moors,  and  Jews,  were  still  flocking  to  the 


88  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

sacrifice;  but  the  sight  was  not  a  lovely  one,  and 
we  had  seen  enough  of  it. 

A  few  days  after  this,  Ramadhan  began.  The 
firing  of  a  cannon  inaugurated  it,  at  sound  of  which 
children  clapped  their  little  hands  and  shouted 
for  joy,  old  men  embraced  each  other,  and  not 
a  Mussulman  but  expressed  a  certain  kind  of 
dignified  satisfaction. 

Of  course  it  is  very  difficult  to  measure  the 
significance  of  this  great  institution,  the  Fast  of 
Ramadhan,  the  third  fundamental  base  of  Islam- 
ism  as  established  by  Mohammed.  Prayer,  alms- 
giving, fasting,  ablutions,  and  the  profession  of 
faith,  are  the  five  indispensable  principles  of 
Mohammedan  worship;  and  the  third,  naturally 
enough,  attracts  the  stranger  more  than  any. 

"  Oh,  believers,"  says  the  Prophet,  "  fasting  is 
prescribed  to  you,  as  it  was  prescribed  to  those 
who  came  before  you.  Fear  the  Lord. 

"  The  month  of  Ramadhan  in  which  the  Koran 
descended  from  on  high  to  serve  as  a  guide  to 
men,  as  a  clear  explanation  of  precepts,  and  dis- 
tinction between  good  and  evil,  is  the  time  of 
fasting.  He  who  is  ill  or  on  a  journey  shall  fast 
an  equal  number  of  days  afterwards. 

"It  is  permitted  to  you  to  eat  and  drink  till 
the  moment  when  you  can  distinguish  a  white 
thread  from  a  black  one.  From  that  time  observe 
the  fast  strictly  till  night." 

Women  who  are  enceinte^  or  nursing  infants, 


RAMADHAN  89 


imbeciles,  young  children,  and  very  old  men  are 
permitted  to  eat,  the  latter  on  condition  that  they 
give  a  little  corn  to  the  poor. 

The  fast  is  broken  at  sunset,  when  a  cannon 
sounds,  and  the  Moorish  cafes  begin  to  fill.  You 
see  little  cups  of  coffee  handed  round,  and  after 
awhile  the  stolid  silence  melts,  and  the  tall  white- 
draped  figures  sitting  round  look  a  little  less  like 
statues. 

During  the  daytime  it  is  impossible  not  to 
notice  the  look  of  depression  pervading  the  old 
town.  The  industrious  little  embroiderers  whom 
I  have  noticed,  get  so  faint  about  noontime  that 
they  are  sent  home;  and  of  course  the  general 
physique  suffers  enormously  from  such  a  sacrifice 
imposed  upon  it.  That  there  is  a  spiritual  as  well 
as  a  material  purification  intended  in  this  ordin- 
ance, is  sufficiently  made  evident  by  the  word 
Ramadhan,  which  signifies  the  fire  that  purifies. 
It  is  not  enough  for  believers  to  abstain  from 
fleshly  gratifications ;  they  must  also  abstain  from 
every  lie  and  evil  thought,  and  must  not  sin  either 
with  the  ears,  tongue,  hands,  or  feet. 

Nothing  in  the  Christian  religion  is  more  im- 
pressive than  the  ceremony  of  evening  worship 
during  Ramadhan.  The  mosques  are  all  lighted 
up;  Turks,  Moors,  and  Arabs  flock  thither  in 
crowds ;  the  fountains  are  thronged  with  the  poor 
who  there  perform  their  ablutions,  and  the  outer 
courts  with  beggars — the  lame,  the  halt,  and  the 


90  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

blind — who  moan  and  mourn,  and  hold  out  their 
hands  alike  to  Mussulman  and  Roumi. 

Leaving  the  streets  and  passing  through  an 
avenue  of  these  importunate  and  wretched  crea- 
tures, I  have  found  myself  many  and  many  a  time 
in  a  scene  almost  impossible  to  realize,  and  how 
impossible  to  describe ! 

One's  first  -experience  is  that  of  being  in  a 
garden.  Those  trickling  fountains,  those  clusters 
of  banana  and  palmetto,  those  dusky  skies  studded 
with  brilliant  stars,  are  surely  no  accessories  of  a 
temple.  But  a  few  steps  farther  on,  and  a  forest 
of  aisles  breaks  upon  the  eye,  the  white  domes 
lighted  by  lamps  not  too  thickly  hung,  the  pave- 
ments covered  with  soft  carpet,  the  columns  count- 
less in  number,  and  exquisitely  proportioned. 

The  loftiness,  the  immensity,  and  the  partial 
light  of  these  domes  and  arcades,  cannot  fail  to 
be  very  impressive ;  but  if  the  outer  courts  of  the 
temple  strike  one  with  an  involuntary  feeling  of 
solemnity,  how  much  more  shall  do  so  the  temple 
itself ! 

Picture  to  yourself  a  broad  or  dimly-lighted 
aisle  with  rows  of  worshippers  on  their  faces,  the 
elegantly  dressed  Moor  beside  the  ragged  Biskri, 
the  Bedouin,  the  negro,  and  the  Turk,  united  in 
the  common  act  of  prayer.  The  colours  of  their 
dress,  the  lines  of  their  figures,  the  mingled  sounds 
of  their  voices  as  they  chant  the  sacred  Litany, 
omitting  no  gesture  ordained  by  the  Prophet,  have 
something  strange  and  weird  in  this  solemn  sort 


RAMADHAN  91 


of  twilight,  whilst  the  leading  voice  of  the  Imam, 
from  a  high  pulpit  opposite,  seems  to  come  from 
an  unearthly  'distance.  But  it  is  vain  to  attempt 
any  description  of  such  a  scene.  The  lights  and 
shadows  are  too  dim,  the  outlines  too  vast,  the 
accessories  too  difficult,  to  realize  in  words. 

It  is  like  the  dream  of  a  Mohammedan  millen- 
nium when  the  temple  serves  for  all  worshippers, 
and  yet  there  is  space  for  more.  One  must  live  in 
Mohammedan  countries  to  realize  the  inherent 
connection  between  Mohammed's  religion  and 
the  people  and  country  to  whom  he  bequeathed  it. 
One  must  study  the  Arabs,  too,  before  talking  of 
converting  them  to  Christianity. 

When  Ramadhan  comes  to  an  end,  the  streets 
of  Algiers  are  like  the  scenes  of  some  gay  f  eerie 
at  the  Porte  St.  Martin. 

The  negroes  dance  through  the  town  to  the 
sound  of  castanet  an'd  drum,  wearing  bright- 
coloured  clothes  and  flowers  stuck  behind  their 
ears.  The  Moorish  ladies  pay  visits  (dressed  in 
diaphanous  drapery  of  silky  white  with  sashes  of 
crimson  and  gold,  and  their  negresses  follow  lead- 
ing by  the  hand  some  dainty  little  Omar  or  Zorah, 
its  tiny  fingers  dyed  with  henna,  and  its  body 
'decked  in  purple  and  orange.  Every  one  is  bent 
upon  pleasure,  and  if  you  drop  into  a  bazaar,  you 
find  the  merchant  seated  in  the  midst  of  his  friends 
enjoying  a  grave  kind  of  hilarity. 

Monsieur  L ,  the  good-natured  inter prete 

judiciaire,   who    had    become    my    instructor    in 


92  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

Arabic,  was  kind  enough  to  take  me  with  his  wife 
upon  a  round  of  morning  calls  at  this  time.  It 
was  the  best,  and  at  the  same  time  the  worst 
opportunity  possible  for  visiting  Moorish  families ; 
you  might  as  well  try  to  catch  a  Jew  dull  at  a 
bargain  as  a  Moorish  gentleman  or  lady  unoccu- 
pied during  the  week  after  Ramadhan.  We  were 
fortunate,  however,  to  find  the  very  persons  we 
most  wanted  to  see  at  home,  and  though  the  lady 
was  busy  preparing  for  friends,  we  were  entreated 
to  stay  and  partake  of  coffee.  The  host,  a  gentle- 
manly handsome  man  of  forty,  received  us  with 
that  exquisite  charm  of  manner  which  is  Arab  par 
excellence,  and  introduced  us  to  his  three  children, 
boys  whose  ages  varied  from  five  to  fifteen.  The 
eldest,  named  Hassan,  was  a  slim,  delicate  youth, 
— dressed  in  vest  and  silk  drawers  of  pale  mauve 
—who  spoke  French  perfectly,  talked  to  me  of 
England,  of  foreign  travel,  and  of  his  own  pro- 
spects with  much  intelligence  and  no  spark  of 
hobbledehoyish  embarrassment.  The  youngest, 
named  Omar,  a  little  fellow  with  roguish  black 
eyes,  kissed  us  prettily,  though  he  didn't  much  like 
it,  and  then  stood  at  his  father's  knee  biting  his 
henna-tipped  fingers,  and  quizzing  us  to  his  heart's 
content. 

We  sat  in  an  elegant  room  bright  with  soft 
carpets,  coloured  lamps,  brackets  painted  with 
flowers  and  arabesques,  and  tiny  looking-glasses 
framed  in  silver  and  gems.  In  an  alcove  stood  a 
bed  hung  with  magnificent  curtains  of  white  silk 


RAMADHAN  93 


embroidered  with  gold,  and  beside  it  a  table  of 
inlaid  mother-of-pearl.  Before  us  was  a  pretty 
little  court,  where  delicate  marble  pillars,  flowers 
and  fountain,  refreshed  the  eye  after  the  super- 
abundance of  colour  within,  whilst  stately  ne- 
gresses  moved  indolently  about  with  brush  and 
broom,  making  pretence  to  be  busy. 

We  talked  of  many  things,  but  mostly  of  the 
prospects  of  these  three  boys.  Our  host,  whose 
face  had  grown  familiar  to  me  at  the  Governor- 
General's  receptions,  and  who  filled  an  import- 
ant official  post  in  Algiers,  spoke  openly  of  his 
perplexities  on  that  head. 

"  That  boy  there,"  he  said,  smilingly  indicating 
his  eldest  son,  "  wants,  like  everybody  else  now- 
a-days,  to  see  the  world.  He  must  be  a  barrister, 
I  think,  and  go  to  Paris.  If  I  make  a  doctor  of 
him,  he  will  get  few  patients  among  the  Arabs, 
and  none  among  the  French.  Trade  is  no  longer 
a  road  to  fortune.  My  boys  do  not  labour  under 
the  disadvantage  that  I  have  done,  and  must  turn 
their  French  education  to  good  purpose  somehow, 
but  how?  Voila  la  difficult*? ." 

Hassan  laughed  gaily,  thinking,  I  dare  say,  how 
pleasant  it  would  be  to  see  Paris  and  become  a 
man  of  the  world. 

"I  shall  see  England,  too,  shan't  I,  father?" 
he  said,  and  when  I  promised  to  show  him  some- 
thing in  London  if  he  got  so  far,  he  laughed  more 
gaily  still. 

A  negress  now  appeared  at  the  doorway  bearing 


94 IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

cake  and  coffee  on  a  massive  gold  salver.  Hassan 
sprang  to  take  it  of  her,  and  setting  it  on  the  floor 
served  us  with  tiny  cups  of  delicious  coffee,  each 
being  handed  in  an  outer  cup  of  delicate  silver 
filigree  work. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  cheerfulness  and 
cordiality  of  this  interesting  family,  and  the  visit 
would  have  been  delightful  but  for  one  drawback. 
Whenever  I  was  brought  into  contact  with  Moorish 
domestic  life,  the  position  of  the  women  struck 
me  painfully,  but  never  so  painfully  as  now. 
Here  were  all  the  accessories  of  a  happy  home, 
the  refinements  of  wealth,  graceful  intelligent 
children,  an  amiable,  worthy,  and  polished  man 
at  the  head;  but  the  mother  remained  invisible. 
We  naturally  asked  after  Madame,  with  many 
regrets  at  not  being  able  to  see  her. 

"My  wife,"  said  our  host,  "is  engaged;  and 
moreover,  like  most  Moorish  ladies,  does  not 
speak  French.  It  is  not  wonderful  that  she  is  a 
little  backward  in  coming  forward.  To  you  Eng- 
lish ladies,"  he  added,  turning  to  me,  "  who  travel 
so  much,  I  dare  say  it  seems  surprising  that  our 
ladies  can  stay  within  doors  as  they  constantly 
do;  it  is  the  custom — not  a  good  custom,  but  on 
s'y  habitue;"  and  then  he  dropped  the  subject 
as  if  it  were  to  himself  also  a  painful  one. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THROUGH   THE    METIDJA   TO 
TENIET-EL-HAAD 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THROUGH   THE    METIDJA   TO   TENIET-EL-HAAD 

ONE  fine  morning  I  set  off  with  Mme.  Bodichon, 
two  girl  friends  and  the  brother  of  one — a  young 
barrister — for  Teniet-el-Haad  and  its  famous 
cedar  forest. 

We  hired  two  carriages,  making  Blidah  our 
starting-point,  and  from  this  little  capital  of  the 
Hesperides  ordering  relays  for  the  hundred-and- 
fifty-miles  journey  before  us.  After  passing  the 
well  cultivated  and  quite  French  villages  of 
Boufaritk  and  Bintut,  we  caught  sight  of  gleam- 
ing white  little  Blidah,  enchantingly  nestled  amid 
orange  and  lemon  groves.  No  wonder  that  it  has 
obtained  its  legendary  name !  Whichever  way 
you  turn  you  are  sure  to  find  yourself  amid  the 
surroundings  so  sighed  for  by  Goethe's  terribly 
pathetic  child-woman — 

"Wo  die  Citronen  bliihen 
Im  dunklen  Laub  die  Gold-orangen  gliihen." 

To  the  unaccustomed  eye  the  mass  and  depth 
of  such  yellowness  is  dazzling.  Of  all  colours 
surely  that  of  the  richest,  deepest  gold  holds  the 
palm,  and  here  it  is  beheld  in  quite  unimaginable 
splendour. 

H  97 


98  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

Upon  this  occasion  we  only  halted  for  the  night, 
but  as  I  had  just  before  stayed  here  several  days, 
I  give  first  my  experience. 

After  the  heat  and  glare  of  Algiers,  to  myself 
and  friend  the  quietude  of  the  dusky  orange  and 
lemon  groves  were  very  refreshing.  Looking  up- 
ward, we  seemed  to  breathe  under  a  wholly  new 
firmament,  heavens  of  deep  lustrous  green  lit  by 
glowing  golden  orbs.  Not  a  sound,  not  a  glimpse 
of  the  outer  world  disturbed  these  solitudes,  be- 
fore, behind,  to  right,  to  left,  stretching  gardens 
gorgeous  as  Aladdin's.  There  were  oranges  of 
all  sizes,  constellations' and  Milky  Ways  of  them, 
whilst  here  and  there  blossoms  perfumed  the  air 
as  only  orange  blossoms  can.  Then  there  were 
groups  of  lemon  trees  with  their  pale  transparent 
green  leaves  and  primrose-coloured  fruit,  and, 
hedging  in  all  this  beauty  and  opulence,  lines  of 
stately  cypress.  Delightful  it  was  to  be  lazy  amid 
such  scenes,  whether  the  sun  shone  overhead 
or  no,  or  a  tender  rain  pattered  on  the  glossy 
leaves  and  brought  down  golden  spoils  to  our 
feet. 

For  one  of  the  so-called  winter  rains  came  on, 
and  compelled  us  to  seek  diversion  near  home. 
There  was  plenty  at  hand.  In  the  first  place,  we 
made  the  acquaintance  of  a  very  intelligent  pro- 
prietor of  orangeries,  who  gave  us  his  story,  in- 
cluding the  history  of  the  Algerian  orange  trade 
during  the  preceding  years.  We  heard  it  in  the 


THROUGH  THE   METIDJA          99 

large  store-house  attached  to  his  gardens,  where 
a  negro  and  a  couple  of  Frenchwomen  were  busily 
sorting  oranges  and  lemons.  Piles  of  the  bril- 
liant fruit  dazzled  the  eye  on  every  side.  The 
ground  was  heaped  with  it ;  the  walls  were  hidden 
by  it;  the  air  was  perfumed  with  it.  In  spite  of 
this  plenty,  it  seemed  startling  to  be  told  that  the 
grower  had  to  part  with  his  oranges  for  three-half- 
pence a  hundred ! 

Whilst  talking  trade  and  statistics,  I  was  looking 
all  the  while  at  the  busy  negro  opposite  to  me. 
If  any  one  could  look  blacker  than  a  negro,  he 
did  just  then,  as  his  figure  stood  out  like  a  bas- 
relief  in  jet  against  the  background  of  warm  gold 
and  amber. 

Having  learned  all  that  we  wanted  to  know 
about  oranges,  and  gained  the  impression  that  it 
would  be  a  very  profitable  as  well  as  poetic  thing 
to  hire  a  corner  in  the  Garden  of  the  Hesperides, 
we  strolled  through  the  town.  Such  a  dull  little 
French  town,  in  spite  of  the  beautiful  hills 
stretching  above  and  around,  and  the  prettiness 
of  its  aspect  as  seen  from  the  plain  ! 

There  was  a  gateway  at  each  end,  and  a 
square  in  the  midst,  and  a  little  church  and  a 
big  barracks;  and  hundreds  of  majestic  Arabs 
and  trim  French  soldiers  wandering  about,  not 
knowing  in  the  least  what  to  do;  and  one  or  two 
real  Arab  streets,  with  quaint  little  mosques  and 
marabouts,  and  deliciously  cool  cafes  full  of 

H  2 


100  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

stately   coffee-drinkers,   in   such   attitudes   as   to 
drive  a  sculptor  wild. 

We  went  to  one  of  these  cafes  and  drank  coffee, 
partly  because  we  were  cold,  and  partly  because 
we  wanted  amusement.  There  were  only  two  or 
three  men  within,  a  richly  dressed  Kaid,  a  couple 
of  ragged  but  stalwart  Kabyles,  and  an  intelli- 
gent and  gentlemanly  Arab  merchant  of  Blidah, 
who  spoke  French  exceedingly  well.  Coming 
hither  as  do  many  full  of  prejudices  against 
Mohammedan  theories  concerning  women,  it  was 
what  our  French  neighbours  call  renversant,  a 
topsy-turvydom,  the  deferential  attitude  of  Moors 
and  Arabs  towards  all  European  ladies  they  met. 
In  this  cafe,  for  instance,  we  could  not  have  been 
but  in  the  way,  yet  the  most  honourable  places 
were  given  us  and  our?  comfort  studied  quite 
touchingly. 

We  stayed  several  days  at  Blidah,  a  lovely  little 
town  in  which  at  the  time  I  write  of  folks  could 
live  upon  nothing.  Everything  in  the  shape  of 
food  was  superabundant,  the  woods  abounded  with 
game,  the  land  teemed  with  milk  and  honey.  An 
apronful  of  perfect  oranges  cost  a  halfpenny, 
and  suburban  banks  were  covered  with  wild 
strawberries. 

There  is  a  romantic  gorge  near  the  town,  where 
apes  may  be  seen  disporting  themselves  on  the 
trees,  and  where  we  found  ferny  banks  reminding 
us  of  Cornwall.  Although  we  visited  this  spot  on 


THROUGH 


a  wet  day  we  found  two  English  tourists  in  its 
most  solitary  recess. 

What  delighted  us  even  more  than  the  oranges 
and  apes  was  the  sight  of  regimental  horses, 
fifty  in  all  and  of  superb  aspect.  How  Mme. 
Bodichon,  a  splendid  and  daring  horsewoman, 
longed  to  mount  one  and  have  here  her  daily  gallop  ! 
We  grew  a  little  puzzled  over  our  informant's 
details  as  to  pure  Arabian,  Persian,  Numidian  and 
Syrian  race,  but  in  the  works  of  a  great  authority 
on  the  subject,  viz.  General  Daumas,  we  are 
assured  that  such  terms  are  synonymous  and 
mean  the  oriental  horse  exclusively. 

The  Mohammedan  legends  regarding  the  horse 
are  poetic  in  the  highest  degree.  When  the  Lord 
wished  to  create  the  horse  he  cried  to  the  south 
wind,  "I  would  fain  have  a  creature  born  of  thee; 
condense  thyself."  Then  came  the  angel  Gabriel, 
and  took  a  handful  of  the  condensed  wind,  and 
presented  it  to  the  Lord,  who  made  therefrom  a 
light  bay  horse. 

The  horse  prays  three  times  a  day. 
In  the  morning  he  says,  "O  Allah,  make  me 
dear  to  my  master  !  " 

At  midday,  "  Be  good,  O  Allah,  to  my  master 
that  he  may  be  good  to  me  !  " 

And  at  night,  "  May  my  master,  O  Allah,  win 
Paradise  on  my  back  !  " 

One  day  the  Prophet  was  asked  by  one  of  his 
followers  if  there  were  horses  in  Paradise. 


162  IN  FRENCH- AFRICA 

"  If  God  permits  you  to  enter  Paradise,"  he 
said,  "you  will  have  a  horse  of  ruby  furnished 
with  wings,  by  which  he  will  bear  you  whither  you 
will.55  His  own  horse  Bourak  went  there.  And 
an  Arab  poet  has  sung — 

"Who  will  weep  for  me  after  my  death?  My 
sword,  my  land,  and  my  beautiful  bay  of  the 
slender  proportions.55 

One  could  fill  pages  illustrative  of  the  tradition- 
ary love  of  the  horse,  which  has  been  handed  down 
from  generation  to  generation,  and  the  subject  is 
so  bewitching  that  one  is  tempted  to  do  so. 
But  I  will  content  myself  with  dipping  here 
and  there  into  General  Daumas5  book,  recom- 
mending the  enthusiastic  reader  to  such  collec- 
tions of  Arab  poetry  and  legend  as  lie  within 
reach. 

In  the  Sahara  the  horse  is — or  was — reared  as 
tenderly  as  the  heir-apparent  to  a  throne.  When 
the  foal  is  weaned,  the  women  say,  "  This  orphan 
belongs  to  us;  let  us  make  his  life  as  easy  as 
possible.55  The  diet  and  training  are  attended  to 
with  the  utmost  care  and  regularity.  Amulets  and 
talismans  are  hung  round  his  neck  to  preserve  him 
from  wounds,  sickness,  and  the  evil  eye.  The 
women  and  the  children  are  his  playfellows.  He 
is  fed  with  dates,  kous-kous-sou,  and  camel's  milk. 
In  times  of  famine  his  master  will  stint  wife  and 
child  that  his  horse  may  not  suffer. 

"  Every  grain  of   barley,55   says  the    Prophet^ 


THROUGH  THE   METIDJA        103 

"  given  to  your  horse  shall  bring  you  a  par'don  in 
the  other  world." 

And  a  sage  has  said— 

"  The  noble  may  labour  with  his  hands  under 
three  circumstances  without  blushing,  namely,  for 
his  horse,  his  father,  and  his  guest." 

And  another — 

"  Never  strike  a  noble  horse,  for  that  is  but  to 
brutify  him,  and  drive  his  pride  to  resist  your 
authority.  Words  and  signs  are  sufficient  where- 
with to  correct  him." 

"  A  thorough-bred,"  says  Abd-el-Kader,  "  a  real 
drinker  of  air,  should  have  long  ears,  long  head 
and  neck,  long  fore-limbs,  short  hind-quarters  and 
back,  large  forehead,  large  chest,  clean  skin,  eyes, 
and  hoofs." 

The  horse  of  the  Sahara,  in  fact,  should  have 
all  the  desirable  qualities  of  other  animals,  such 
as  the  courage  of  the  bull,  the  swiftness  and 
far  sight  of  the  ostrich,  the  endurance  of  the 
camel,  and  so  on.  The  seller  of  such  a  treasure 
will  say — 

"  It  is  not  my  horse  that  I  offer,  but  my  son. 
He  has  such  sight  that  he  can  see  a  hair  in  the 
night. 

"  He  can  overtake  the  gazelle. 

c<  When  he  hears  the  voices  of  the  maidens  he 
cries  with  joy. 

"When  he  finds  himself  on  the  field  of  battle, 
he  rejoices  in  the  hissing  of  the  balls. 


104  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

"  He  understands  things  as  well  as  a  son  of 
Adam ;  only  speech  is  wanting  to  him. 

"He  is  so  light  that  he  could  dance  on  the 
bosom  of  your  mistress  without  causing  her  to 
tremble. 

"  He  has  no  brother*  in  this  world ;  he  is  a 
swallow." 

Anecdotes  and  legends  bearing  upon  the  price- 
lessness  of  these  beautiful  creatures  abound.  One 
day  an  Arab  was  sending  his  son  to  market  to  buy 
a  horse.  Before  setting  out,  the  young  man 
demanded  what  kind  it  was  to  be.  The  father 
replied,  "  His  ears  should  always  be  moving,  turn- 
ing now  this  way,  now  that,  as  if  he  heard  some- 
thing; his  eyes  should  be  restless  and  wild,  as  if 
he  were  intent  upon  something ;  his  limbs  should 
be  well  proportioned  and  well  set." 

"Such  a  horse,"  said  the  son,  "will  never  be 
sold  by  his  master." 

But  I  must  bid  adieu  to  the  fif  ty  horses  of  Blidah, 
no  longer  feeding  on  dates  and  kous-kous-sou,  and 
sleeping  under  their  masters'  tents  in  the  desert, 
but  belonging  to  French  officers.  Indeed,  it  is  not 
the  Arab  and  his  horse  that  present  themselves 
before  you  in  Algeria  as  inseparable  ideas,  but  the 
Arab  and  his  donkey,  too  often  a  lank,  ill-fed  and 
ill-used  beast.  Many  a  time  the  sight  of  these 
bruised,  bleeding  animals  has  spoiled  the  heavenly 
landscape. 

My  worthy  Scotch  friend — as  she  became — she 


THROUGH   THE   METIDJA        105 

of  a  Byronic  turn,  had  with  her  a  homely  maid 
herself  coming  from  Deeside.  Again  and  again 
when  walking  out  with  her  mistress,  the  kind  soul 
would  stop  donkey  beaters,  and  with  tears  in  her 
eyes  and  Christ  and  His  teaching  on  her  lips, 
implore  pity  for  the  victims.  The  Arabs,  never 
inclined  to  jeer  and,  I  am  afraid,  to  improve,  would 
hearken  with  a  respectful  smile  and  hurry  on. 

Doubtless  matters  are  much  improved!  now 
owing  to  the  Gramont  Acts  and  the  S.P.C.A. 
Societies  established  in  many  towns.  But  accord- 
ing to  Captain  Haywood's  delightful  book  just 
published  (Through  Timbuctoo  and  the  Great 
Sahara},  B!edouins,  other  tribes,  and  especially 
negroes,  are  absolutely  brutal  with  regard  even  to 
their  horses.  This  treatment  of  the  donkey  by 
pious  Mohammedans  is  all  the  more  astonishing, 
as  among  the  half-dozen  animals  admitted  into 
Heaven  is  the  ass  that  lessoned  Balaam ! 


CHAPTER   IX 
MILIANA 


CHAPTER    IX 

MILIANA 

I  NOW  return  to  my  second  halt  at  Blidah,  on 
our  way  to  Teniet-el-Haad  and  its  famous  cedar 
forest. 

Quitting  the  glorious  and  historic  Metidja,  with 
its  golden  and  purple  shadows,  infinite  lines, 
nestled  townlings  and  villages,  our  carriages 
slowly  wound  upward  towards  Miliana. 

The  weather  was  cold,  and  no  sooner  had  we 
left  the  plain  behind  than  north  winds  and  heavy 
downpours  compelled  us  to  bring  out  wraps  and, 
as  far  as  possible,  close  our  caleches. 

So  chilly  were  the  blasts  that  for  the  most  part 
we  contented  ourselves  with  furtive  peeps  at 
scenery  we  hoped  to  behold  a  little  later  under 
smiling  circumstances.  At  every  relay  we  ex- 
changed carriages,  thus  varying  talk  by  the 
way. 

Miliana  is  most  imposingly  placed.  Perched 
midway  between  mountain  range  upon  range, 
one  bold  peak  rising  above  the  rest,  the  build- 
ings shining  as  of  white  marble,  with  a  belt  of 
greenery  around  them,  a  sunbeam  turns  the  'dis- 
tant prospect  into  an  ensemble  not  easy  to  forget. 

109 


110  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

The  circling  summits  are  of  varied  outline,  some 
mere  monticules  rounded  and  verdant,  others 
sharp,  sierra-like  and  steely  grey.  Alternating 
storm  and  sunshine  render  the  scene  doubly 
pictorial. 

Looking  back  on  the  i>road  bright  plain,  a 
veritable  lake  of  greenness,  I  was  reminded  of  a 
view  from  the  heights  around  Salzburg.  The 
beauty  of  the  Salzkammergut  is  softer,  more 
homelike. 

But  the  weather  was  wintrier  than  that  of  a  cold 
English  spring,  and  we  did  not  arrive  at  a  pro- 
pitious hour.  The  town  was  filled  to  the  last 
corner  with  French  officers;  we,  however,  were 
allowed  to  warm  ourselves  at  a  blazing  wood  fire, 
with  a  promise  of  dinner  by  and  by,  and  perhaps 
beds  afterwards.  We  did  get  dinner,  and  a  very 
good  one  too,  after  waiting  till  all  the  hungry 
officers  had  been  served ;  and  when  we  had  done, 
the  landlady  and  her  troop  of  Waiters  in  white 
jackets  sat  down  to  theirs. 

Next  day  we  amused  ourselves  to  our  hearts' 
content.  Early  in  the  morning  the  sous-prefet, 
to  whom  we  had  official  letters  paid  us  a  visit. 
He  was  a  grave,  pleasant  man,  past  middle  age, 
and  equally  ready  to  offer  us  hospitality  and 
information.  When  breakfast  was  over  he  carried 
us  off  to  see  his  wife  and  daughters.  The 
-prefecture  was  an  old  Moorish  house,  full  of 
beautiful  Moorish  things,  such  as  carpets,  lamps 


MILIANA  111 


and  arms,    some   of   which   were   the   spoils   of 
Smalas,  and  of  recent  acquisition. 

The  sous-prefefs  lady  was  well  dressed,  even 
in  the  latest  fashion,  and  had  not  much  conversa- 
tion ;  but  her  daughters,  who  wore  brown  serge  and 
looked  pretty  nevertheless,  proved  lively  enough. 
The  young  ladies  amused  their  leisure  with  turn- 
ery, whilst  their  father  amused  his  own  with  wool- 
work. We  were,  therefore,  shown  the  atelier  of 
the  first,  and  the  slippers  and  sofa  cushions  of  the 
last.  I  often  thought  afterwards  of  that  pensive 
sous-prefet  sorting  out  his  wools  and  counting  his 
stitches. 

Having  showed  us  their  pretty  garden  full  of 
flowers  and  palm  trees,  the  ladies  took  us  on  a 
round  of  visits  to  Moorish  families  of  their 
acquaintance.  The  first  house  we  visited  be- 
longed to  an  Agha  of  great  wealth  and  import- 
ance, whose  womenkind  were  preparing  for  a 
wedding  to  take  place  that  very  evening.  .What 
with  the  Agha's  four  wives,  married  and  un- 
married daughters  and  daughters-in-law,  it  was 
a  little  difficult  to  understand  the  relationship  of 
the  numerous  ladies  who  crowded  round  us, 
offering  their  faces  like  children  to  be  kissed. 

We  were  at  once  introduced  to  the  bride,  a 
pretty  demure  little  creature  of  thirteen.  She 
squatted  on  the  floor,  and  in  such  a  costume  that 
it  was  difficult  to  believe  she  could  be  anything 
but  a  doll.  Her  neck  and  shoulders  were  literally 


112  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 


covered  with  gold  necklaces  and  chains;  and  her 
brown  legs,  bare  from  the  knee,  had  silver  anklets. 
The  dress  of  embroidered  vest,  gauze  sleeves,  and 
full  white  cotton  drawers  was  pretty  enough,  but 
the  incongruous  mass  of  ornaments  and  the 
patches  of  black  paint  disfiguring  her  fresh  cheeks 
spoiled  all. 

Being  conducted  to  the  apartments  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  court,  we  found  ourselves 
literally  dazzled  by  the  blaze  of  colour  and 
gold. 

It  was  the  dressing-room  of  the  ladies  preparing 
for  the  festival,  and  a  troop  of  dark-eyed,  girlish 
creatures  surrounded  us,  laughing,  romping  and 
tittering  as  they  made  their  wonderful  toilettes. 
Their  purples,  orange,  crimsons  and  blues  made 
up  such  a  flash  of  colour  as  I  never  beheld.  One, 
a  lovely  little  thing,  with  rosy  cheeks  and  large 
languorous  black  eyes,  came  up,  dragging  by  the 
button  a  superb  vest  of  deep  carmine  colour, 
heavy  with  gold  braid.  Another  was  clasping 
necklace  after  necklace  of  coral,  amber  and  gold 
over  her  white  silk  chemisette.  A  third  was 
adjusting  a  Tunis  sash  of  delicate  blue  interwoven 
with  silver.  A  fourth  was  merrily  submitting  to 
a  process  of  hairdressing  at  the  hands  of  a  negress 
dressed  in  crocus-coloured  cotton.  All  were 
merry  as  children  out  of  school,  excepting  the 
first  mentioned,  with  the  large  eyes,  whose  name 
was  Hanyfa.  Hanyfa  was  sad,  her  companions 


MILIANA  113 


said,   because   she  had   lost  her  baby,   and   her 

husband  did  not  find  her  pretty ! 

One  of  the  youngest  and  merriest  of  the  girls 

brought  this  recreant  youth  before  us,  introducing 

him  after  a  cool  fashion— 

"  Here    is    the    youth   who    finds    one    of    his 

father's  wives  prettier  than  his  own !  "  she  said, 

whereupon  every  one  laughed  but  ourselves  and 

Hanyfa. 

"  Is  it  really  true  ? "   asked  the  sous-prefers 

daughter,  in  a  breath ;  "  for  shame,  Hassan,  your 

wife  is  really  pretty !  " 

But  Hassan  still  stuck  to  his  text.     He  didn't 

think  so,  he  said,  voila  tout !  He  was  an  effemi- 
nate-looking youth  of  about  sixteen,  and  seemed 
to  have  nothing  better  to  do  than  loiter  outside 
the  women's  apartments  and  talk  nonsense. 

After  a  little  further  entertainment  we  kissed 
the  ladies  all  round,  and  took  leave.  When  half- 
way down-stairs  a  negress  came  running  after  us 
with  a  tray  of  cakes  and  sweetmeats;  and  to 
gratify  her  and  the  family  hospitality  in  general, 
we  went  away  munching. 

We  next  visited  the  ladies  of  a  still  richer  Agha, 
but  a  daughter  of  the  house  had  lately  died,  and 
all  was  silence  and  mourning.  The  Agha  himself 
was  at  Algiers,  and  we  afterwards  learned  that  he 
had  a  wife  there  to  whom  he  granted  his  company 
half  the  year.  The  wife  to  whom  we  were  now 
introduced  was  a  gentle  and  lovable  creature,  about 


114  IN   FRENCH- AFRICA 

twenty-eight;  pale,  oval-faced,  and  with  features 
of  extraordinary  refinement,  she  interested  me 
more  than  any  Moorish  lady  I  had  yet  seen. 

After  a  little  talk,  managed  by  our  three  or  four 
sentences  of  Arabic  and  signs,  the  lady's  daughter 
and  daughter-in-law  came  in  to  see  us.  Then 
coffee  and  quince-jelly  were  handed  round,  our 
hostess  telling  us,  when  we  praised  the  latter,  that 
it  was  of  her  own  making. 

Moorish  ladies,  like  Eve,  always  seem  "on 
hospitable  thoughts  intent"  whenever  you  visit 
them;  and  there  is  something  quite  touching  in 
the  way  they  sit  by,  trying  to  catch  the  meaning 
of  a  French  word  here  and  there,  and,  without 
doubt,  quite  aware  of  their  own  imperfect  educa- 
tion and  comparative  servitude.  We  talked  of 
our  families  at  home,  of  European  customs,  and 
of  a  score  of  domestic  matters.  Mme.  Bodi- 
chon,  who  had  long  golden  hair,  was  begged  to 
let  it  down;  and  when  the  Moorish  ladies  saw  the 
mass  of  it,  the  colour  of  it,  and  the  silkiness  of  it, 
they  had  no  words  for  their  admiration. 

Hardly  was  the  excitement  of  this  incident 
over,  when  we  heard  an  infantine  crow  close  at 
hand,  and  looking  up,  beheld  the  prettiest  mite 
of  an  Ayesha  held  by  a  young  negress  dressed  in 
brilliant  green.  The  child  with  its  little  henna- 
tipped  fingers,  and  the  nurse  with  her  dark  face 
and  gay  dress,  made  quite  a  picture  as  they  rested 
in  the  doorway,  their  shadows  falling  on  the  white 
colonnade  of  the  court. 


MILIANA  115 


Little  Ayesha  was  very  willing  to  be  kissed  and 
played  with,  but  soon  cried  to  be  taken  by  her 
young  grandmamma,  our  interesting  hostess. 

.When  she  had  been  sent  away,  her  mother 
brought  from  an  inner  room  a  life-size  photo- 
graph, and  put  it  into  our  hands,  saying,  with  no 
little  show  of  pride  and  affection,  "Voila  mon 


mari." 


What  was  my  surprise  to  find  that  the  grand- 
father of  little  Ayesha  and  the  husband  of  our 
pretty  hostess  was  no  other  than  the  handsome, 
gentlemanly,  well-informed  Kabylian  at  whose 
house  I  had  lunched  a  few  days  before  !  I  looked 
at  the  portrait  again  and  again,  but  there  was  no 
possibility  of  being  deceived;  and  the  discovery 
spoiled  both  pictures  of  Moorish  domestic  life. 

I  felt  too  much  sympathy  with  the  wife  whose 
acquaintance  I  had  just  made  not  to  resent  the 
ignominy  of  her  position ;  and  I  think  she  read  my 
thoughts.  She  looked  proudly  and  sorrowfully 
at  her  husband's  portrait,  too,  as  if  glad  to  belong 
to  him,  but  sorry  that  some  one  else  belonged  to 
him  as  well. 

We  made  our  adieux  in  quite  a  friendly  fashion, 
and  amused  ourselves  for  the  rest  of  the  day  in 
sketching  and  strolling  about  the  town.  Madame, 
the  p'efet's  wife,  did  not  care  for  walking,  how- 
ever, and  soon  quitted  us,  with  a  parting  charge 
to  see  her  daughters  safely  to  their  own  door. 

"  It  is  not  comme  il  faut"  she  said,  "  for  young 
ladies  to  be  seen  in  the  streets  without  a  chaperon; 


I  2 


116  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

as  the  town  is  always  full  of  officers,  it  doesn't  do, 
you  understand !  " 

Here  was  a  parody  on  European  emancipation 
of  thought !  We  were  pitying  the  seclusion  and 
trammels  of  Moorish  ladies,  and  found  out  that 
young  Frenchwomen  of  twenty-three  and  twenty- 
four  were  not  trusted  alone  beyond  their  own 
garden !  Surely  an  Arab  satirist  might  make 
something  of  such  a  state  of  things  ! 

After  dinner  the  prefet  sent  some  officers  to 
conduct  us  to  a  ball  at  the  theatre.  Genial  are 
ever  French  officers,  ready  to  take  up  any  new 
amusement  that  comes  in  the  way,  to  make  them- 
selves agreeable  to  strangers,  whether  congenial 
or  not,  to  do  good-natured  things  in  season  and 
out  of  season;  in  fine,  to  render  life  easy  to 
themselves  and  their  neighbours  under  any  cir- 
cumstances. And  only  the  other  day  so  our 
countryman  before-named  found  them  on  that 
wondrous  journey  of  his  from  Sierra  Leone  via 
Timbuctoo  and  the  Sahara  to  Algiers. 

We  were  excessively  amused  by  one  young 
lieutenant  fresh  from  St.  Cyr,  who  told  us  that 
he  hoped  to  be  sent  to  Senegal,  or  to  Cochin 
China,  or  to  Mexico  ere  long — he  didn't  in  the 
least  mind  which  of  the  three.  "  A  vrai  dire  !  " 
he  added  emphatically,  "  f  adore  Vinconnu  !  " 

The  young  gentleman  who  adored  the  Un- 
known, in  company  with  his  superior  officers, 
carried  us  off  to  the  theatre  in  great  glee.  The 
younger  of  our  party  were  persuaded  to  dance, 


MILIANA  117 


whilst  their  two  elders  looked  on  from  a  box. 
The  theatre  was  prettily  decorated  with  flowers 
and  banners,  the  upper  ten  thousand  dancing  on 
the  stage,  the  multitude  on  the  parterre  or  pit. 

All  classes  of  the  little  community  of  Miliana 
were  here  represented.  There  was  the  general's 
wife  in  satin  and  lace,  and  the  general's  cook  in 
calico,  stiff  with  starch.  There  were  Jews,  Arabs 
and  Kabyles  among  the  spectators ;  and  whilst  the 
dancing  went  on  merrily,  some  strange  things 
might  be  seen  in  the  lower  boxes.  The  Arabs 
are  gamblers,  though  Mohammed  particularly 
reprobates  games  of  chance  in  the  Koran,  cap.  v., 
when  he  says :  "  O  believers,  wine,  games  of 
chance,  statues,  and  fortune-telling  are  an  abomi- 
nation invented  by  Satan.  Abstain  from  them 
and  you  will  be  happy." 

But  despite  the  command  of  the  Prophet,  play, 
and  high  play  too,  is  still  common  among  the 
faithful.  Some  high  play  was  going  on  to-night 
in  dark  corners  of  this  little  Miliana  theatre. 

When,  a  little  before  midnight,  we  returned  to 
the  hotel,  it  presented  the  appearance  of  an 
encampment.  Beds  were  made  up  on  the  floors 
of  the  salons,  and  whichever  way  we  looked  we 
saw  some  rough  head  resting  on  an  improvised 
pillow. 

Early  next  morning  we  were  on  our  way  again. 
The  horses  were  fresh,  the  weather  was  perfect, 
and  we  drove  briskly  through  a  magnificent 
country,  the  features  of  which  changed  at  every 


118  IN    FRENCH-AFRICA 


turn  of  the  road.  Sometimes  we  saw  Arabs  at 
work  on  well-cultivated  slopes  and  valleys,  whilst 
at  others  not  a  soul  was  in  sight,  and  not  a  human 
element  seemed  ever  to  have  modified  the  soli- 
tudes around  us. 

Looking  back  we  had  a  superb  view  of  Mili- 
ana,  which,  from  a  great  distance,  might  be  com- 
pared to  a  white  dove  resting  midway  between 
heaven  and  earth.  Above  its  glistening  walls  rose 
the  superb  peak  of  the  Zakkar;  around  stretched 
mountain  after  mountain  of  varied  aspect,  whilst 
at  the  foot  of  the  town  lay  a  fertile  plateau, 
through  which  we  were  journeying. 

The  road  was  excellent,  and  our  Arab  drivers 
smoked  their  cigarettes  in  silent  satisfaction  with 
the  prospect  of  things.  But  by  the  time  we  had 
lost  sight  of  Miliana  we  had  lost  our  way  too, 
for  the  military  road  to  Teniet-el-Haad  was  not 
then  near  completion.  Just  where  the  new  bit 
ended  and  the  old  began  was  an  encampment 
of  about  forty  soldiers,  whose  tents,  horses  and 
uniforms  made  a  bright  and  cheerful  picture  in 
the  solitude.  The  sous -of/icier,  after  a  little 
shyness,  invited  us  to  breakfast  in  his  tent,  and 
soon  quite  a  feast  was  spread  before  us.  Nothing 
could  equal  the  hospitality  and  heartiness  of  our 
host,  though  his  guests  were  all  foreigners  and 
strangers  to  him.  After  having  wished  the  gentle- 
man plenty  of  sport  and  the  ladies  plenty  of 
sketching  at  Teniet,  he  bade  us  adieu  regretfully. 


MILIANA  119 


An  hour  or  two  later  we  reached  the  solitary 
caravanserai  of  Anseur-el-Louzi,  where  we  halted 
for  the  night.  As  we  drove  under  the  gateway, 
two  or  three  dogs  rushed  out  to  announce  arrivals, 
and  the  hosts  came  forward  with  a  word  of 
welcome. 

They  were  rather  rough-looking  Alsatians,  but 
well-meaning  in  the  main,  and  seemed  anxious  to 
make  us  comfortable.  The  house-wife  led  us  to 
the  only  rooms  at  her  disposal  for  the  ladies, 
promising  our  cavalier  a  room  somewhere,  and  all 
of  us  a  vegetable  soup  and  roast  quails  for  dinner. 
Our  chambers  were  those  usually  set  apart  for  the 
officers,  who  were  warned,  by  a  printed  notice 
stuck  on  the  walls,  not  to  carry  their  dogs  indoors 
with  them;  the  outer  one  opened  on  to  the  court 
by  a  door  of  tremendous  thickness,  and  the  inner 
looked  towards  the  hills  and  the  road  winding 
amid  them  by  which  we  had  come. 

The  caravanserai  was  built  square,  with  small 
towers  at  each  corner  for  defence,  and  thick  walls 
divided  into  rooms  and  stables,  all  opening  upon 
the  court,  which  measured  about  a  hundred  feet 
by  sixty.  In  the  centre  was  a  large  fountain,  and 
when  we  arrived,  a  group  of  Spahis  in  scarlet 
burnouses  were  giving  their  horses  drink,  and 
chatting  gravely  in  the  sun. 

Nothing  could  surpass  the  solitariness  and 
Eastern  aspect  of  the  scene.  The  court  with  its 
white  walls  cut  sharply  against  a  burning  blue 
sky,  the  fountain,  the  dark-brown  mountaineers 


120  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

who  came  and  went,  the  drinking  camels,  the 
meadows  of  asphodel  and  oleanders,  and  the 
ever-changing  hills  beyond — all  this  was  not  to 
be  seen  for  the  first  time  and  easily  forgotten. 

The  outlying  country  was  lovely  beyond  de- 
scription. We  strolled  about  to  pluck  wild 
flowers,  and  in  ten  minutes  our  hands  were  full ; 
there  were  crimson  anemones,  yellow  asphodel, 
iris,  white  and  purple,  marigolds  large  as  roses, 
and  golden  as  ripe  oranges,  vetches  purple,  blue 
and  pink,  rosemary,  mignonette,  and  an  infinity 
whose  names  I  do  not  know.  With  this  glory  of 
colour  on  the  hills  around,  a  river  rippling  amid 
oleanders  below,  a  fresh  spring  air  quickening  our 
pulses,  and  a  horizon  of  mountains  on  every  side, 
here  of  the  deepest  green,  there  of  dreamiest 
violet — who  would  not  envy  us  such  a  walk ! 

One  gets  no  twilight  in  Africa.  The  sun  goes 
down  and  the  stars  come  out  in'  the  same  inde- 
scribable, delicious,  tranquillizing  light  that  is 
hardly  of  day  or  of  night,  but  more  beautiful  than 
either.  In  a  moment,  as  if  by  a  miracle,  the 
flowers  at  our  feet  are  no  longer  cusps  of  glowing 
colour,  the  olive  trees  lose  their  soft  gradations 
of  hue  and  shape,  the  sea  becomes  of  uniform 
sleepy  blue,  and  the  sky  overhead  purply  black 
and  studded  with  stars.  So  it  was  in  this  strange 
lodging,  but  instead  of  stars  came  darkness  and 
rain,  and  we  heard  between  sleep  and  sleep  the 
plashing  drops  and  the  cries  of  jackal  and  hyena. 


CHAPTER   X 

A  SNOWSTORM  IN  THE  CEDAR 
FOREST 


CHAPTER  X 

A  SNOWSTORM  IN  THE  CEDAR  FOREST 

FOLLOWING  the  river  Chelif,  that  wound  amid 
oleanders  and  tamarisk  trees  over  a  rocky  bed, 
we  pushed  on  towards  Teniet.  The  weather 
was  still  cold  and  showery,  and  the  rains  of  the 
night  before  had  swollen  the  river  in  many  places, 
making  cascades  and  waterfalls  wherever  it  found 
impediment.  But  for  the  foliage  I  could  often 
have  fancied  myself  in  North  Wales;  there  was 
many  a  dell  and  rushing  stream  that  might  have 
been  those  of  Bettws-y-Coed,  and  many  a  glen 
and  waterfall  that  one  might  find  again  in  Llan- 
gollen.  At  some  places  it  was  arduous  work  to 
cross  the  jagged  channel  of  the  river,  and  more 
than  once  we  alighted  for  the  horses'  sake,  get- 
ting over  by  means  of  such  stepping-stones  as  we 
could  find.  The  bright  reds  and  greys  of  the 
rocks,  the  bold  shapes  they  sometimes  showed 
against  the  sky,  the  mingled  leafage  of  tamarisk, 
oleander,  ilex,  terebinth,  and  locust  tree,  the  pale 
green  water  creaming  into  surf  amid  blocks  of 
polished  stone,  made  these  ravines  beautiful, 
especially  when  the  sun  came  out,  and  showed 
us  a  party  of  red-cloaked  Spahis  galloping  across 

123 


124  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

the  Sierra,  and  a  wild-looking  goatherd,  draped 
in  white,  and  posed  like  a  king,  who  exchanged 
Salamalek  with  us  as  we  passed  by. 

About  noon  we  stopped  at  a  wretched  little  hut, 
and  obtained  black  bread,  wild-boar  steaks,  and 
what  our  host  was  pleased  to  call  a  mountain 
salad,  in  other  words,  wild  endive  well  soaked 
in  strong  oil.  When  we  had  lunched  a  poor- 
looking  Arab  came  up  with  his  two  wives,  and 
loitered  about,  looking  at  us,  and  exchanging 
smiles  and  words  with  each  other. 

The  women  were  not  ill-looking,  and  Mme. 
Bodichon  sketched  each  of  the  little  party,  by 
turns,  to  their  infinite  embarrassment  and  delight. 
They  seemed  too  ignorant  of  the  Prophet's  precept 
to  turn  upon  the  artist — as  the  poorest  Algerian 
will  do — and  refuse  to  have  their  portraits  taken 
on  simply  religious  grounds,  but  took  their  turns 
with  childish  amusement  and  self-consciousness. 
We  gave  each  half  a  franc  for  the  sitting,  but  the 
husband  was  so  enchanted  at  the  idea  of  his  por- 
trait travelling  to  England  "  beyond  sea,"  that  he 
presented  the  artist  with  a  handful  of  new-laid 
eggs  out  of  sheer  gratitude ! 

In  Algiers  no  one  will  sit  for  you  unless  driven 
to  it  by  direst  need,  whilst  no  sooner  do  you  begin 
to  take  a  portrait  chance-wise,  than  you  are  com- 
pelled to  shut  your  book  and  put  up  your  pencils. 
It  is  only  at  the  extreme  poles  of  society  that  any 
tolerance  can  be  found.  The  better  class  of 


SNOWSTORM   IN   CEDAR   FOREST     125 

Moors  have  become  so  far  infused  with  French 
culture  as  to  patronize  photography,  and  even  the 
Arabs  of  the  country  are  too  ingenuous  to  see  any 
harm  in  a  portrait. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  we  drove  through  the 
gate  of  Teniet-el-Haad,  to  find  snow  on  the 
mountains  around  us,  snow  half  melted  on  the 
roadways,  and  a  sharp  north  wind  cutting  our 
faces  like  a  sword. 

It  was  our  intention  to  settle  ourselves  for 
several  days  at  this  little  military  station,  and 
accordingly  we  unpacked  our  valises,  brought  out 
our  small  supply  of  books,  and  tried  to  make  the 
best  of  our  wretched  inn.  There  was  no  sort  of 
accommodation  for  us  beyond  three  bedrooms 
crowded  to  the  last  inch  with  furniture,  clothes, 
provisions  and  lumber;  and  looking  on  one  side, 
over  the  barracks  towards  the  mountains,  on  the 
other  over  a  miserable  Arab  village,  and  a  little 
Catholic  church  flanked  by  green  hills  sprinkled 
with  snow.  These  rooms  were  separated  from 
the  other  part  of  the  house  by  a  wooden  ladder, 
sloppy  with  snow  and  guarded  by  a  vicious  dog 
which  barked  incessantly;  and  as  we  had  our 
meals  below,  we  furnished  ourselves  with  wooden 
shoes  for  the  transit.  The  one  element  of  delight 
and  comfort  was  a  fire  of  huge  cedar-logs  in  our 
front  room,  round  which  we  gathered,  hardly 
knowing  which  to  praise  most,  the  grateful  warmth 
©r  the  delicious  smell  of  the  blazing  cedar-wood. 


126  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 


In  the  evening  the  officers  in  command,  to  whom 
we  had  been  especially  commended  by  the  Mar- 
shal, came  to  see  us.  M.  le  Colonel  was  a  quiet, 
soldierly-looking  man  of  about  fifty,  who  had  seen 
some  sharp  fighting  in  Algeria.  M.  le  Capitaine, 
who  had  a  young  wife  and  some  charming  children, 
was  an  elderly  soldier  who  had  also  seen  hard 
service,  and  with  him  came  a  boyish  young  officer 
of  rather  aristocratic  appearance  fresh  from  St. 
Cyr. 

These  gentlemen  promised  us  horses,  mules, 
guides  and  their  own  company  for  our  excursion 
to  the  cedar  forest  next  day,  and  a  gazelle-hunt 
later  if  we  only  stayed  for  better  weather. 

By  seven  o'clock  next  morning  we  were  up  and 
looking  at  the  weather.  It  was  not  promising. 
Heavy  clouds  half  hid  the  mountains,  and  as  the 
villagers  turned  out  to  Mass,  umbrellas  were  held 
up  one  by  one.  We  could  hardly  see  the  snow, 
if  was  so  fine,  but  the  fact  could  not  be  disputed 
— snow  was  falling  and  likely  to  fall. 

The  gentlemen  were  true  to  their  word,  how- 
ever, and  taking  that  as  a  prognostication  of  good 
weather,  we  mounted  the  horses  and  mules  they 
had  provided  for  us.  Such  a  cavalcade  as  we 
formed  was  evidently  an  uncommon  sight  at 
Teniet.  Jews,  Arabs  and  French  came  out  to 
stare  at  us,  and  by  the  time  we  were  fairly  started, 
quite  a  crowd  had  collected  in  the  street. 

Our  guide  led  the  way,  bearing  provisions  in 
saddle-bags.  He  was  a  handsome  Kabyle,  and 


IN  THE  CEDAR  FOREST 


[To  face  p.  127. 


SNOWSTORM  IN   CEDAR   FOREST     127 

hi3  uniform  of  crimson  leather  leggings,  scarlet 
burnouse,  and  white  linen  head-gear,  became  him 
well.  As  he  moved  on  in  the  wintry  landscape 
before  us,  the  warm  colour  of  his  dress  seemed 
especially  grateful.  I  think  it  is  Leigh  Hunt  who 
wrote,  "  I  never  see  an  old  woman  wearing  a 
scarlet  cloak  in  wet  weather  without  blessing  her." 
And  I  agree  with  him,  that  if  bright  tints  arc 
acceptable  in  a  sunny  atmosphere,  they  are  doubly 
so  in  a  wintry  one. 

After  steadily  mounting  for  an  hour  and  a  half 
we  entered  upon  the  skirts  of  the  cedar  forest. 
Here  we  saw  two  or  three  solitary  Arab  tents. 
As  we  ascended  we  gained  a  wider  and  yet  wider 
view  of  the  surrounding  country,  till  at  last  we 
reached  a  summit  from  which  even  Miliana  was 
visible.  But  the  sky  was  overcast,  the  snow  began 
to  fall  without  intermission,  and  very  soon  we 
could  only  discern  the  immediate  scenery  around 
us.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  grandeur  of  the 
cedar  forest  as  we  saw  it  in  a  snowstorm.  At 
first  v/e  had  no  words  for  our  admiration  of  those 
kingly  cedars,  which  seemed  to  have  sent  out  their 
gigantic  branches  in  the  throes  of  some  tremen- 
dous struggle  with  an  infinite  power,  and  now 
stood  like  towers  of  strength,  clothed  in  plumes 
of  somberest  green.  The  height  of  the  trees,  the 
size  of  the  trunks,  the  vastness  of  their  spreading 
shade,  the  isolation  of  their  positions,  render  a 
cedar  forest  ever  majestic.  But  when  the  mist 


128  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 


hid  the  mountains,  and  the  storm-wind  wrapped 
the  stately  crests  with  snow,  the  scene  became 
one  of  awful  grandeur. 

Far  as  the  eye  could  reach  stretched  an 
abysmal  prospect  of  grey  vapour,  from  which 
rose  here  and  there  a  monster  tree,  its  dark 
branches  taking  a  spectral  look  in  the  surrounding 
solitude.  Indeed,  so  superhuman  was  the  solitude 
that  one  almost  looked  for  a  megatherium  or 
megalonyx  to  break  it,  and  no  lesser  or  later 
created  living  thing.  One  felt,  too,  that  some 
realization  of  annihilation  was  possible  in  sight  of 
this  infinite  desolation  and  silence  hitherto  un- 
preconceived.  The  wail  of  Ossian,  the  story  of 
Prometheus,  and  the  music  of  Beethoven,  may 
perhaps  be  compared  to  such  a  scene,  but  only 
the  Promethean  legend  equals  it  in  solemn 
majesty.  Every  one  of  those  Titanic  trunks 
looked  as  if  it  might  have  been  forced  to  the 
verge  of  the  depth  below  in  some  half  god-like, 
half-human  struggle  against  other  forces ;  and  the 
wind,  as  it  swept  down  from  the  mountains, 
groaned  and  gasped,  almost  expressing  positive 
pain. 

We  followed  a  wild  tract  that  led  now  on  the 
edge  of  an  awful  precipice,  now  through  the 
mazes  of  the  forest,  and  at  last  reached  a  deserted 
hut  standing  on  a  little  plateau.  Blackened 
stems,  just  silvered  with  snow,  lay  here  and  there, 
whilst  our  view  was  bounded  by  trees  in  their  full 


CHALET  NOW  REPLACING  OUR  HUT 


[To  face  p.  128. 


SNOWSTORM  IN   CEDAR  FOREST     129 

prime  and  glory,  some. of  them  reaching  to  the 
height  of  twenty  yards,  and  capable  of  sheltering 
a  hundred  and  twenty  mounted  soldiers  from  the 
sun. 

We  had  hoped  to  make  a  little  fire  in  the  hut 
for  the  purpose  of  drying  our  soaked  clothes  and 
warming  our  benumbed  limbs,  but,  unfortunately, 
neither  the  guide  nor  our  cavaliers  were  provided 
with  lucifers.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to 
make  ourselves  happy.  Our  saddle-bags  were 
produced,  and  we  made  a  hearty  meal  standing 
on  boards,  and  shifting  from  one  foot  to  the  other 
by  way  of  keeping  up  circulation.  When  our 
supply  of  hard-boiled  eggs,  bread  and  wine  had 
come  to  an  end,  the  storm  gathered  force  and 
fury.  Down  came  the  artillery  of  winds,  crashing, 
laming,  ruining  wherever  they  passed,  and  as  if 
gloating  over  destruction  with  shrieks  and  yells  of 
triumph.  Fast  and  thick  came  the  snowflakes, 
covering  every  speck  of  greenness  and  every  sign 
of  life  till  the  eye  became  dazzled  with  the  glisten- 
ing monotony.  -  To  go  on  was  madness,  to  remain 
was  madder  still ;  so  we  remounted  and  faced  the 
storm  with  as  much  courage  and  good  humour  as 
we  had  at  command.  For  some  time  we  kept 
to  a  path  that  wound  through  the  very  heart  of 
the  forest,  having  a  steep  ravine  on  each  side, 
and  gaining  at  every  turn  new  prospects  of  wild 
and  weird  effect.  The  mist  was  now  so  thick  that 
the  huge  cedars  looked  diaphanous  and  visionary. 


130  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

We  seemed  to  be  wandering  through  an  atmo- 
sphere that  was  wholly  new,  peopled  by  pale  blue 
phantoms  of  antediluvian  size  and  mystery.  As 
soon  as  we  began  to  descend,  the  horses  and 
mules  could  with  difficulty  keep  their  feet.  Those 
who,  like  myself  (being  no  horsewoman),  rode 
mules,  were  best  off,  the  sagacious  animals 
being  quite  equal  to  any  emergency  of  the 
kind. 

Again  and  again  I  had  suggested  that  the 
especial  guide  told  off  to  look  after  me  should 
lead  my  beast. 

"  Not  in  the  least  necessary,  mademoiselle," 
was  the  careless  reply.  '  That  animal  knows  his 
way  better  than  any  of  us,  every  gully,  rut  and 
stump — if  he  doesn't  know,  something  in  his  head 
—or  in  his  inside,  le  bon  Dieu  who  made  him 
knows,  I  don't — warns  him  of  danger;  you  are 
as  safe,  ma  petite  dame,  as  if  warming  your  toes 
by  the  fire." 

He  was  right.  How  slowly,  guardedly  and 
deliberately  those  delicate  forelegs  moved  down- 
ward, not  the  abruptest  turn,  not  the  slipperiest 
slope,  not  the  most  jagged  bit  of  rock,  making 
him  pause  or  stumble !  From  the  beautiful  self- 
complacency,  rather,  should  I  say,  nonchalance 
of  the  creature,  one  could  but  suppose  that,  like 
human  beings,  he  delighted  in  his  ^ir  de  force. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  whilst  the  mule-mounted  fared 
well,  our  one  horsewoman  and  the  cavaliers,  find- 


SNOWSTORM  IN   CEDAR  FOREST     131 

ing  prudence  the  better  part  of  valour,  alighted, 
despite  snow,  blast  and  gathering  gloom,  footing 
it  home. 

And,  indeed,  although  drenched  to  the  skin, 
benumbed  with  cold,  our  cheeks  blistered,  the 
little  cavalcade  reached  Teniet  in  safety.  To  our 
discomfiture  we  found  the  good  Capitaine  await- 
ing us,  determined  to  carry  us  home  to  dinner. 
His  chere  moitie,  that  is  to  say ?/ Madame,  counted 
upon  our  company,  he  said ;  no  toilette  was  neces- 
sary, but  no  refusal  would  be  accepted. 

The  prospect  of  another  ride  in  the  cedar 
forest,  another  facing  of  what  was  worse  than 
King  Lear's  storm,  could  hardly  have  dismayed 
us  more.  Vainly  we  pleaded,  saturated  skins, 
fatigue  and  wet  clothes.  Vainly  we  explained 
that  in  order  to  lighten  our  horses'  load  for  the 
long  drive  to  and  from  Algiers,  we  had  all  kept 
luggage  within  the  limits  of  a  handbag.  Our  too 
hospitable  Capitaine  refused  to  hearken.  There 
was  plenty  of  time,  he  said,  for  he  would  return 
two  hours  later,  and  meanwhile  there  was  the 
baker's  oven — the  military  baker's  big  oven,  close 
by.  Our  dripping  garments  therein  would  soon 
become  dry  and  warm  as  hot  cakes ! 

"  As  to  the  ladies'  skirts,"  he  gallantly  added, 
"  permit  me,  a  husband  and  father,  proudly  to  take 
charge  of  them ;  the  oven  is  close  by."  Our  Eng- 
lishman, however,  the  brother,  as  I  have  said,  to 
one  of  our  party,  would  not  hear  of  this,  and  with 

K  2 


132  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

the  four  skirts  slung  over  his  arm,  hastened  off 
to  the  bakery. 

Two  hours  later  our  host  returned,  and  what 
with  a  rest  in  warmed  beds,  hot  tea  and  blazing 
cedar  logs,  we  set  off  gaily  enough. 

The  good  Capitaine's  chere  moitie  we  found 
young,  pretty,  elegant,  and  the  proud  mother  of 
two  equally  engaging  and  well-mannered  children 
and  a  baby  up-stairs.  Several  neighbours,  mili- 
tary men  and  their  wives,  had  been  invited,  and 
beamingly  host,  hostess,  children  and  guests  sat 
down  to  the  tastefully  arranged  oval  table, 
flowers,  crystal  and  plate  recalling  Parisian  petits 
diners. 

Then  a  tragi-comic  incident  occurred.  This 
Anglo-French  banquet — foretaste  of  the  entente 
cordiale,  was  evidently  a  rare  event,  and  the 
lavish  preparations  in  our  honour  had  exhilarated 
the  household.  When,  with  a  grand  flourish, 
Hamet,  the  Kabyle  man-servant,  in  handsome 
native  dress,  was  about  to  place  the  soup,  by  some 
inadvertent  slip,  the  large  tureen  tipped  over,  the 
savoury,  steaming  mess  deluging  spotless  damask, 
glittering  plate  and  Madame's  new  silk  dress. 
With  little  screams  and  ejaculations  ladies  and 
gentlemen  started  to  their  feet,  all  snatching  their 
dinner  napkins  and  mopping  up  the  potage  as  best 
they  could. 

Meantime  the  catastrophe  strikingly  brought 
out  French  character. 


SNOWSTORM   IN   CEDAR  FOREST    133 

A  good-natured  shrug  of  the  shoulders  and  the 
remark— 

"  II  faut  passer  de  notre  potage  alors "  we 
must  do  without  our  soup,  then),  was  all  the 
notice  that  the  host  took  of  the  matter,  whilst 
Madame,  despite  her  damaged  gown,  soon  smil- 
ingly reseated  herself.  The  unfortunate  Hamet 
got  not  so  much  as  an  impatient  word  or  even  a 
frown,  and,  it  must  be  admitted,  went  through 
his  duties  as  unmovedly  as  if  nothing  whatever 
had  happened.  The  dinner  was  excellent,  every 
one's  appetite  and  spirits  left  nothing  to  be 
desired,  so  it  was  a  case  of  all's  well  that  ends 
well. 

But  this  journey  to  the  cedar  forest  was 
"destined  to  be  tragi-comic  from  beginning  to  end. 
Next  day  a  wave  of  risibility  swept  over  the  little 
settlement,  our  innocent  selves  forming  the  sub- 
ject. In  the  most  cordial  French  eyes,  John  Bull 
ever  possesses  a  touch  of  Pickwick,  the  English 
character — alike,  masculine  or  feminine — is  never 
without  eccentricity.  We  learned  that  the  most 
whimsical,  the  most  egregious  gasconade  had 
got  abroad.  It  was  not  the  English  ladies' 
dresses  that  had  been  carried  to  the  baker's  oven 
the  night  before.  The  four  drenched  Anglaises 
—("  Que  voulez-vous,  c'etait  tout  que  les  pauvres 
dames  avaient  a  faire,  vu  les  circonstances !  "  was 
the  good-natured  comment) — so  the  story  ran,  i.  e. 
myself  and  three  countrywomen,  like  Shadrach, 


134  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

Meshach  and  Abednego,  had  bodily  entered  the 
oven,  in  the  deliciously  warm  and  desiccative 
atmosphere  therein  restoring  their  torpid  and  half- 
frozen  limbs.  We  stayed  on  and  let  the  potin  die 
a  natural  death. 


CHAPTER  XI 
SOCIETY  AT  TENIET-EL-HAAD 


CHAPTER   XI 

SOCIETY  AT    TENIET-EL-HAAD 

THE  snow  having  come  seemed  in  no  hurry  to 
take  leave.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  pile 
up  our  cedar-logs,  bring  out  books,  drawing 
materials  and  needlework  and  await  fine  weather. 
There  was  no  possibility  of  getting  to  Miliana 
till  a  change  came.  Our  cavalier  read  the  French 
newspapers  and  smoked  cigarettes  with  the 
French  officers  in  their  cafes,  and  we  always  dined 
out,  invitation  upon  invitation  being  heaped  upon 
us.  We  picked  up  acquaintances  too  at  the  mid- 
day table  d'hote  of  our  untidy  little  inn. 

One  of  these  was  a  pleasant  and  very  conversant 
Maronite  or  Christian  Arab,  and  an  interpreter 
by  profession,  who  offered  to  give  me  lessons  in 
Arabic,  would  I  only  stay  on  a  little,  and  who 
presented  me  with  one  of  the  Gospels  he  had 
translated  from  the  Greek  into  his  own  language. 

That  little  paper-bound  Gospel  I  have  still  with 
the  donor's  signature,  "  Offert  a  Mademoiselle 
B.-E.',  par  Th.  Chidiac,"  but,  alas!  the  little 
Arabic  I  once  possessed  is  all  gone,  and  I  can  no 
longer  read  St.  Mark  in  the  tongue  of  Mohammed, 
nor  a  word  from  my  beautifully  printed  quarto 


138  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 


Koran,  another  Algerian  gift  of  this  period.  The 
Mohammedan  Bible  and  its  author  have  ever  pos- 
sessed extraordinary  fascination  for  me.  How 
lovely  the  mottoes,  parables  and  narratives  scat- 
tered through  the  Koran  !  And  how  striking  from 
beginning  to  end  was  the  Prophet's  life  !  Where 
can  we  find  a  sweeter  tale  than  that  of  Kadijah 
and  Ayesha? 

When  Mohammed,  then  in  the  apogee  of  fame 
and  glory,  was  asked  for  the  interests  of  Islam 
to  put  away  the  elderly  Kadijah  and  wed  the 
young  and  beautiful  Ayesha,  he  replied — 

"  No,  Kadijah  was  the  first  to  believe  in  me 
and  to  stand  by  me  in  thought,  word  and  deed. 
I  will  never  put  away  Kadijah  for  Ayesha  or  for 
another,  were  she  even  more  beautiful." 

Well,  indeed,  has  a  great  nineteenth-century 
Talmudist  written  of  Mohammed — 

'  Take  him  for  all  in  all,  the  history  of  humanity 
has  seen  few  more  earnest,  noble  and  sincere 
prophets,  men  irresistibly  impelled  by  an  inner 
power  to  teach  and  to  utter  austere  and  sublime 
truths,  the  full  purpose  of  which  is  unknown  to 
themselves."  And  the  writer  adds  :  "  The  most 
complete  and  admirable  parts  of  Islam,  namely, 
the  ethics  of  the  Koran,  like  golden  threads  are 
woven  into  the  huge  fabric  of  the  religious  con- 
stitution of  Mohammed." 

But  I  am  getting  far  from  our  rough  and 
ready  little  hostelry  and  its  innumerable  social 
attractions. 


SOCIETY   AT   TENIET-EL-HAAD     139 

Two  very  intelligent  French  lads  studying 
Arabic  here  joined  the  table  d'hote  dejeuner  and 
used  to  show  me  their  books,  and  with  great 
lucidity  explain  the  methods  of  their  professors. 
Very  advanced  in  mentality,  as  French  youths 
invariably  are,  this  interchange  of  sociabilities 
with  English  people  evidently  afforded  them 
great  pleasure. 

One  day  Mme.  Bodichon's  young  Arab 
servant  brought  in  a  little  wild  boar  offered  for 
sale.  My  friend  was  always  ready  to  buy  any- 
thing, no  matter  what,  so  long  as  it  pleased  her, 
and  the  few  francs  demanded  were  immediately 
paid  down.  Hamet  used  to  bring  in  the  baby 
boar  at  times  to  divert  us  with  his  infantine  antics. 
It  was  carried  home  by  the  proud  purchaser  and 
presented  to  her  husband.  Long,  I  believe,  it 
flourished  under  the  doctor's  care.  Dr.  Bodichon 
adored  animals,  and  had  a  pet  pig  in  their  Sussex 
home;  the  maids  used  to  play  at  hunting  him 
in  the  adjoining  wood,  greatly  to  the  animal's 
delight. 

"Voila,"  said  the  Hector,  "une  bete  qui  a 
enormement  d'esprit ! " 

But  weather-fended  we  might  be,  without 
dinner-parties,  Maronites,  French  boys  and  wild 
boars  we  might  be,  my  Algerian  hostess  would 
have  made  up  for  all.  Like  Lady  Hesketh  so 
lovelily  immortalized  in  Cowper's  letters,  Mme. 
Bodichon  "  annihilated  the  difference  between 
cold  and  heat,  gloomy  skies  and  cloudless." 


140  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

Wherever  she  went  she  carried  charm  and  stimulus 
as  health-giving  plants  their  flowery  aroma. 

The  only  one  of  our  party  who  uttered  Touch- 
stone's wish  from  time  to  time  was  our  Hamet. 
He  had  never  quitted  Algiers  before,  and  even 
the  pranks  of  the  baby  boar  could  not  cure  his 
home-sickness. 

"  But,  Hamet,"  I  said,  "  isn't  it  a  pleasant  thing 
to  run  about  the  world  a  bit  and  see  how  other 
people  live?" 

"  Ma  foi,  oui,  Madame,"  he  answered,  scratch- 
ing his  head  ruefully,  "  c'est  un  tres  bonne  chose 
de  voyager,  mais  je  serai  tres  content,  moi,  de 
revoir  Alger.  On  se  trouve  fou  quand  on  ne 
connait  personne." 

Hamet  was  an  excellent  lad,  devoted  to  his 
mistress,  obliging  to  us  all,  honest,  active,  and 
thoughtful  for  our  comfort,  but  he  lacked  the  art 
of  looking  cheerful  under  adverse  circumstances. 
Ill  content  with  the  cold,  the  want  of  his  usual 
occupations,  and  the  absence  of  his  fellow- 
servants,  he  lounged  about  the  door  of  the  inn 
smoking  cigarettes,  and  looking  the  very  picture 
of  ennui. 

Mme.  R ,  the  wife  of  the  Capitaine,  was 

with  us  a  good  deal,  and  when  the  men  were 
out  riding  despite  the  bad  weather,  we  ladies 
amused  ourselves  indoors.  It  was  a  very  pretty 
picture  of  domestic  life  that  we  saw  at  the  little 
military  station  of  Teniet-el-Haad.  A  perfect 
housewife,  this  lady  taught  her  children,  made 
their  clothes,  supervised  the  business  of  the 


SOCIETY   AT   TENIET-EL-HAAD     141 

kitchen,  presided  over  her  table,  and  entertained 
her  guests  with  a  grace  and  ease  perfectly  charm- 
ing. She  was  accomplished  too,  sang  and  played 
exceedingly  well,  could  discuss  English  authors 
intelligently,  and  kne>w  a  great  deal  about  the 
country  in  which  she  lived.  Her  account  of 
African  experiences  was  touching  in  the  extreme. 
She  had  come  from  France  as  a  young  bride  of 
eighteen,  and  till  within  the  last  year  or  two,  had 
constantly  suffered  anxiety  on  her  husband's 
account.  Sometimes  he  had  been  sent  into  the 
interior  subduing  Arab  or  Kabyle  tribes  within 
a  day's  journey  from  her,  and  more  than  once 
she  had  been  in  imminent  peril  of  her  own  life. 

"  Here  at  Teniet  last  year,"  she  said,  "just  be- 
fore my  baby  was  born,  we  were  in  a  state  of  direst 
fear.  A  caravanserai  not  far  from  here  had  been 
surprised  by  Arabs  in  the  night,  the  door  fired, 
the  people  murdered,  and  unmentionable  horrors 
perpetrated.  My  husband  was  fighting  a  tribe  of 
insurgents  in  the  mountains,  and  we  had  only  a 
few  soldiers  left  in  the  fort ;  for  nights  and  nights, 
I  and  the  two  ladies  who  were  here  with  me  were 
kept  awake  by  apprehension  for  ourselves  and  our 
husbands.  Now,  thank  God,  all  is  quiet  imme- 
diately around  us,  but  no  one  knows  how  long  it 
will  be  so." 

One  evening  we  were  invited  to  a  dinner-party 
at  the  Caserne,  given  by  the  Colonel.  His 
bachelor  rooms  were  very  pretty,  and  enlivened 


142  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

by  the  presence  of  a  tame  gazelle,  which  played 
an  infinity  of  tricks  for  our  diversion.  The  walls 
were  hung  with  splendid  skins  of  panthers,  hyenas, 
gazelles,  and  jackals,  most  of  which  he  had  him- 
self taken  in  the  hunt;  and  also  with  Kabyle  arms 
and  Moorish  carpets,  spoils  of  many  a  skirmish 
in  the  interior.  That  poor  lonely  Colonel,  a  man 
already  past  his  meridian,  with  only  a  pet  gazelle 
to  make  up  for  home,  wife,  children,  and  looking 
forward !  A  year  later  I  met  him  again,  he  had 
been  transferred  to  another  and  less  isolated  post 
in  Oran,  but  he  was  still  alone  in  the  world  still 
consoled  by  his  gazelle. 

At  last  the  weather  broke,  and  as  if  by  enchant- 
ment, all  was  golden  sunshine  and  greenness. 
We  went  into  the  cedar  forest  hardly  believing 
our  eyes.  Soft  breaths  of  wild  flowers  were  blown 
across  our  faces ;  the  tips  of  the  cedar  boughs  were 
burnished  with  tender  light;  pleasant  sounds  of 
trickling  water  came  to  our  ears  as  we  passed  on ; 
the  mountains  stood  out  in  the  sunny  atmosphere 
like  gems  in  clear  water;  all  was  freshness,  and 
softness,  and  beauty. 

We  made  a  picnic  in  a  lovely  spot,  and  lingered 
there  for  hours  well  content.  Before  us,  the  high 
lands  of  the  forest  parted,  showing  a  stupendous 
peak  crowned  by  a  solitary  cedar,  and  a  vast  pro- 
spect of  hill  and  valley  mellowed  and  softened  by 
the  genial  sunlight.  The!  knoll  on  which  we 
bivouacked  was  a  very  paradise  of  verdure,  and 
on  each  side  dipped  sheer  into  intricate  mountain 


SOCIETY  AT  TENIET-EL-HAAD     143 

ways  and  thickets.  Panthers  make  their  haunts 
in  these  solitudes,  and  we  had  been  expressly 
enjoined  by  our  military  friends  not  to  linger 
within  the  precincts  of  the  forest  after  sundown. 
But  what  restrictions  can  check  artistic  ardour? 

Leaving  Mme.  Bodichon  comfortably  settled 
with  easel  and  paints,  myself  and  the  two  girls 
strolled  out  of  sight  in  search  of  flowers;  Hamet, 
meanwhile,  being  a  little  way  off  looking  after  the 
horses  and  mules,  none  of  us  marking  time. 

On  a  sudden  we  heard  shouts,  and  soon  per- 
ceived our  artist  hurrying  towards  us.  Fear,  this 
lady  never  knew,  but  voice  and  gesture  betokened 
consternation  now. 

"  Call  Hamet,  let  us  hie  away,  there  is  a  panther 
lurking  near;  I  have  just  heard  and  smelt  him  !  " 
she  cried. 

So  there  was  a  lightning-like  stampede.  In  a 
twinkling  our  things  were  got  together,  our  mounts 
brought  up,  and  happy  at  having  missed  an  adven- 
ture, post-haste  we  trotted  homewards.  It  was 
something  to  have  smelt  a  panther ! 

We  reached  Teniet  as  the  sun  was  crimsoning 
the  vast  plain  of  the  Little  Desert.  Sighingly 
we  used  to  gather  around  our  blazing  cedar-logs, 
longing  to  carry  home  a  wagon-load. 

This  exquisite  wood  was  one  of  the  dearest 
luxuries  during  the  last  years  of  the  Roman 
Republic.  Pliny  says  how  "the  attraction  of 
ivory  and  cedar-wood  has  caused  us  to  strip  all  the 
forests  of  Libya."  Prefects  and  proconsuls  set 


144  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

an  example  of  devastation  which  has  been  fol- 
lowed by  French  commanders.  Tables  of  cedar- 
wood  fetched  fabulous  prices  among  millionaires 
and  connoisseurs  at  Rome.  Cicero  bought  a  table 
for  the  enormous  sum  of  four  thousand  pounds, 
and  others  fetched  the  prices  of  a  fine  estate. 
The  most  esteemed  were  those  carved  from  a 
single  block,  surmounted  on  an  ivory  pillar  and 
ornamented  with  a  circular  band  of  gold.  But 
what  a  different  aspect  did  the  forests  of  the  Atlas 
present  then !  Dr.  Bodichon,  in  his  Etudes  sur 
VAlgerie  et  VAfrique,  shows  in  an  interesting 
chapter  how  Roman  colonization  modified  the 
condition,  and  by  the  demolition  of  forests,  in- 
deed, the  climate,  of  North  Africa.  The  solitary 
lion  and  panther  captured  at  Teniet  now  and  then, 
are  the  remnants  of  a  savage  host,  once  numerous, 
the  elephant,  the  lion  and  the  wild  ass  roaming 
unmolested  till  disturbed  by  the  hosts  of  Suetonius 
Paulinus  and  Hosidius  Geta. 

And  as  of  late  years  has  been  discovered,  "  in 
birthless  time  "  long  before  these  epochs,  pre- 
historic civilizers  had  inhabited  French-African 
solitudes,  preparing  the  way.  A  learned  French 
archaeologist  having  averred  that  no  age  is  com- 
parable to  the  progressiveness  of  those  great 
ancestors !  * 

1  See  M.  Hanotaux'  brilliant  little  work,  La  Fleur  des  His- 
toires  Fran$aises.     Hachette,  1911. 


CHAPTER   XII 

A  ROMAN  CITY  AND  A  BREAKFAST 
WITH  THE  TRAPPISTS 


CHAPTER   XII 

A   ROMAN    CITY   AND   A    BREAKFAST   WITH 
THE    TRAPPISTS 

ONE  never  tires  of  the  Metidja,  a  plain  so 
famous  in  Algerian  annals.  There  is  an  undefin- 
able  charm  in  the  vastness  of  its  brown  wastes 
and  beauty  of  its  sunlit  oases,  in  its  apparently 
interminable  lines  and  endless  coloration,  in  its 
harmoniously  massed  contrasts,  desert  and  corn- 
fields, hill  and  plain,  wilderness  and  civilization. 

With  a  Swiss  fellow-tourist  and  his  homely  but 
intelligent  German  wife,  I  made  the  excursion  to 
the  Roman  city  of  Cherchell,  sleeping  at  Blidah, 
and  thence  starting  in  an  open  carriage  at  six 
o'clock  the  next  morning. 

The  day  was  just  breaking,  and  the  air  keen  till 
there  came  that  ever  Apocalyptic  splendour,  that 
indescribable  pageant  in  this  land — the  sunrise. 
Poor  Christina  Rossetti,  who  confessed  in  my 
hearing  that  she  had  never  seen  the  sun  rise  ! 
What  she  missed,  and  herself  a  poet !  For  the 
first  few  miles,  straight  as  a  long-drawn-out  ruler, 
lay  the  splendid  sward.  On  either  side  vineyards 
and  fields  of  tobacco,  corn  and  flax,  everywhere 
little  trickling  springs  and  flowers,  irises,  purple 

L2  147 


148  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

and  white,  marigolds  and  mignonette,  olive  and 
carob  trees  making  pleasant  shelter  here  and 
there.  Occasionally  we  met  farmers  driving  to 
market  in  a  gig  or  cart,  or  a  troop  of  Arabs  and 
negroes  driving  cattle  and  sheep;  or  we  saw  a 
wild-looking  little  fellow  in  ragged  burnouse, 
keeping  goats  or  cows  in  the  thick  brushwood, 
or  a  French  or  Arab  farmer  ploughing  a  tiny 
field;  but  the  scene  was  for  the  most  part  very 
solitary. 

At  Marengo  we  breakfasted.  The  landlord 
and  landlady  of  the  village  hostelry  were  Ger- 
mans, and  on  finding  out  that  one  of  my  fellow- 
travellers  was  of  the  same  nation,  no  words  could 
sufficiently  express  their  welcome.  The  eldest 
daughter  of  the  house  was  a  very  Gretchen  in 
prettiness  and  innocence,  and  for  her  sake 
especially  we  got  interested  in  the  family.  They 
had  come  from  North  Germany,  and  did  not  seem 
at  all  discontented  with  their  prospects,  though 
they  declared  that  any  idea  of  saving  money  was 
quite  out  of  the  question. 

:<  We  can  maintain  our  family  of  seven  children 
respectably,  but  that  is  all,"  they  said,  "  and  we 
shall  never  see  the  dear  Fatherland  again,  never 
—never !  " 

"And  the  Arabs,"  we  said,  "how  do  you  get 
on  with  them?  Naturally  you  have  much  to  do 
with  each  other !  " 

"  The  dear  God,  yes  !  we  have  plenty  to  do  with 


A   ROMAN   CITY  149 

them,  and  can't  say  that  they  are  worse  than 
Christians.  Perhaps,  here  and  there,  one  will 
have  two  wives  or  will  steal  your  poultry.  But 
does  no  one  steal  poultry,  or  do  worse  than  marry 
two  wives,  in  Europe?  That's  what  we  should 
like  to  know !  " 

The  children,  who  could  hardly  speak  a  word 
of  French,  took  us  by  the  hand  to  see  the  church 
and  the  village.  It  happened  to  be  market-day, 
and  we  saw  a  busy  and  picturesque  scene  that  we 
had  not  looked  for. 

In  a  large  field  bordered  by  carob  trees  were 
hundreds  of  Arabs  and  Kabyles,  some  squatted 
beneath  the  shade,  others  grouped  around  a 
horse  or  a  score  of  sheep,  others  wandering 
about,  like  ourselves,  content  to  be  spectators 
only. 

We  saw  some  faces  of  marvellous  wildness  and 
character;  of  beauty,  too,  though  beauty  to  us  of 
such  unaccustomed  kind,  that,  at  first,  it  seemed 
positive  ugliness.  So  used  as  we  Europeans  are 
to  a  uniform  trimness  of  exterior  and  neatness  of 
type,  we  cannot  for  a  long  time  realize  the  charm 
of  perfectly  untrained  and  unconventional  sym- 
metry of  form  and  feature.  There  were  limbs 
and  lineaments  here  that  realized  all  one's  pre- 
conceived ideas  of  patriarchal  times.  Those 
brown-cheeked,  stalwart  sons  of  Ishmael  might 
well  have  figured  in  life-stories  fierce  and  isolated 
as  their  own  deserts;  and  as  we  lingered  about 


150  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

the  market,  we  saw  many  a  Nebajoth  bartering 
for  corn  or  cattle. 

We  were  witness,  too,  of  more  than  one  scene 
of  Biblical  pathos  and  simplicity.  Whilst  en- 
gaged in  talking  to  a  very  well-dressed,  handsome 
young  fellow,  who  could  speak  a  little  French,  a 
white-bearded,  venerable,  but  ragged  old  man 
came  up  and  greeted  him  by  name.  In  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  our  companion  had  excused 
himself  gracefully  for  quitting  us  so  hastily,  and 
had  fallen  on  his  friend's  neck,  and  kissed  him. 
Then  they  drew  aside  and  chatted  together.  And 
this  sort  of  scene  we  saw  repeated  more  than 
once. 

There  were  a  few  Kabyles  with  their  wives  at 
the  fair,  some  of  whom  were  eating  figs  and  talk- 
ing volubly  under  the  shade.  The  men,  with  their 
greasy  leathern  aprons,  coarse  shirts,  and  bare 
cropped  heads,  contrast  greatly  to  their  own  dis- 
advantage with  the  Arabs,  who  always  look  clean, 
engaging  and  gentlemanly  under  any  circum- 
stances. 

Leaving  Marengo  we  soon  entered  a  wilder 
district,  ever  having  before  us  a  beautifully 
shaped  mountain  of  pale  transparent  blue.  On 
either  side  stretched  wastes  of  brushwood  and 
dwarf  palm,  solitary  as  death,  save  for  the  rare 
smoke  of  a  settler's  chimney,  or  the  cry  of  a  goat- 
herd among  the  thickets.  The  sky  was  fickle,  but 
brilliant,  and  as  we  drove  along,  we  had  superb 


A   ROMAN   CITY  151 

aspects  of  distant  mountains  and  surrounding 
plain. 

Near  Cherchell  the  scenery  became  magnifi- 
cent. Now  we  dipped  into  the  heart  of  a  smiling 
gold-green  valley :  now  we  traversed  the  edge  of 
a  gloomy  ravine;  now  we  crossed  a  dry  river 
bed,  overhung  by  the  tasselled  tamarisk  and  the 
glossy  Aleppo  pine;  or  we  threaded  an  olive 
grove  through  which  the  sun  could  not  sparsely 
penetrate. 

A  cry  of  admiration  escaped  our  lips  as  a  turn 
of  the  road  brought  us  in  sight  of  a  wide  spreading 
valley,  crossed  at  the  base  by  a  superb  Roman 
aqueduct.  Perfect,  but  for  one  arch,  and  stand- 
ing in  the  midst  of  fertile  fields,  this  structure 
impresses  the  gazer  with  an  unspeakable  feeling 
of  pleasurable  surprise.  One  thinks  so  much  of 
the  Arabs  and  Kabyles  in  Algeria,  that  one 
forgets  what  a  part  the  Romans  first  played  there 
till  reminded  of  it  in  this  way. 

Nothing  can  be  prettier  or  more  poetic  than  the 
view  of  Cherchell,  as  approached  from  the  land 
side.  Its  white  walls  form  an  amphitheatre,  above 
which  rise  green  hills  and  fragrant  gardens,  whilst 
below,  the  bright  blue  sea  extends  as  far  as  the 
eye  can  reach.  At  this  time  of  the  year  the 
almond  tree  was  in  full  flower;  and  I  cannot 
describe  the  effect  of  the  pure  pink  blossoms  that 
flushed  the  hills  like  a  rosy  cloud.  "And  not  a 
tree  but  bloomed  blossoms  and  yielded  almonds," 


152  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

These  brilliant  colours,  the  enamel  of  the  turf, 
the  pale  yellow  of  the  seashore,  the  soft,  deep 
turquoise  of  the  waves,  the  rosy  hue  of  the 
almond  trees,  the  glistening  white  of  the  mosques 
and  roofs,  seemed  so  near  the  eyes  that  one 
rubbed  them,  feeling  but  just  awakened  from  the 
blindness  of  partial  sleep.  I  can  still  revel  in  the 
picture  of  Cherchell  as  it  looked  on  that  summer 
day.  For  though  we  were  in  March  the  weather 
was  of  summer-time. 

A  little  Arab  volunteered  to  show  us  the  Roman 
ruins,  but  did  not  in  the  least  know  where  they 
were,  and  but  for  a  stern  Maltese,  who  sent  him 
off  with  a  cuff  and  a  scolding,  we  might  have 
wandered  about  in  vain  for  hours.  The  Maltese, 
having  given  vent  to  his  indignation,  proved  a 
sorry  sort  of  guide  himself,  so  we  trusted  to  our 
own  eyes,  which  was,  after  all,  the  safest  plan. 
After  wandering  about  a  little  hither  and  thither, 
we  needed  no  history  to  tell  us  of  the  ancient  glory 
of  Cherchell,  the  lol  of  the  Carthaginians  and  the 
Caesarea  of  the  Romans. 

These  broken  columns  and  capitals,  these  dis- 
interred statues  and  frescoes,  monumental  stones 
and  sculptured  altars,  tell  their  own  story — a 
story  of  barbaric  pomp,  of  Roman  conquest,  of 
proconsular  power,  of  Christian  martyrdom,  of 
fluctuating  triumphs  and  falls  without  number. 
One  reads  the  history  of  Cherchell  palimpsest- 
wise  from  its  records.  The  Phoenician  story 


A   ROMAN   CITY  153 

comes  first,  then  the  Roman,  then  the  Vandal, 
then  the  Turkish ;  but  the  second  are  clearest  and 
most  interesting. 

The  most  remarkable  monuments  here  are  those 
of  the  Hippodrome,  the  circus  wherein  Saint 
Severin  and  his  wife,  St.  Aquila,  were  burned 
alive,  and  the  Thermae.  But  on  a  verdant  slope 
stretching  to  the  sea  and  shaded  by  chestnut  trees, 
are  heaps  of  later  discovered  treasures,  such  as 
columns,  cornices  and  friezes,  which  are  no  less 
interesting,  and  amongst  these  we  wandered  for 
upwards  of  an  hour.  Work  was  over;  Arabs, 
Kabyles,  French  and  Spaniards — for  there  are 
great  numbers  of  Spaniards  in  these  little 
colonies — were  walking  about,  or  chatting  as  they 
sat  on  some  fragment  of  sculptured  stone ;  a  fresh 
breeze  blew  from  the  sea,  and  the  whole  scene  was 
one  of  peace  and  pleasantness. 

The  smaller  treasures  discovered  at  Cherchell 
are  collected  in  a  little  museum,  now  in  the 
Louvre,  and  the  greater  part  were  at  this  time 
exhibited  in  a  tiny  garden  opening  on  to  the 
street.  Here  we  saw  a  faun,  terribly  disfigured 
by  time  and  accident,  but  sunny  and  beaming 
with  life  nevertheless;  a  graceful  Diana;  deli- 
cately carved  capitals,  busts,  monumental  stones, 
cinerary  urns,  amphorae,  and  other  waifs  and 
strays  saved  from  the  wreck  of  the  once  flourish- 
ing Mauretanian  capital. 

One  of  the  most  curious   things  is  an  altar 


154  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

set  up  by  a  Roman  praetor  to  the  native 
godsh 

Leaving  the  museum  we  started  through  the 
town  under  the  escort  of  an  intelligent  young 
soldier,  an  Alsatian,  who,  seeing  that  we  were 
strangers,  offered  his  friendly  services.  He  took 
us  first,  naturally  enough,  to  the  barracks,  and 
showed  us  the  little  theatre  which  had  been  con- 
structed by  himself  and  fellow-men,  and  was 
patronised  by  the  officers  and  residents  of  the 
town. 

Outside  the  doors  was  pasted  a  bill  bearing  the 
following  notice  in  a  bold  hand— 


TO-NIGHT    WILL    BE   GIVEN, 

MADELEINE, 

A  VAUDEVILLE  IN  THREE  ACTS  BY 
M.  LE  CAPITAINE  TARVER. 


Doors  open  at  seven  o'clock.     Admission  free. 


"Do  come  and  see  us  play,  ladies,"  said  our 
guide,  persuasively.  "  M.  le  Capitaine  writes 
such  pretty  pieces,  and  M.  le  Sous-lieutenant  is 
to  play  the  part  of  Madeleine.  I  assure  you, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  that  but  for  our  theatre  we 
should  die  of  ennui  in  this  out-of-the-way  spot." 

We  excused  ourselves  from  accepting  his  kindl 


A   ROMAN   CITY  155 

invitation,  as  we  intended  to  leave  Cherchell  the 
next  day,  and  were  anxious  to  see  as  much  of  it 
as  possible.  He  took  alike  the  refusal  and 
apology  good-temperedly,  and  strolled  with  us  to 
the  Christian  burial-ground,  which  covered  a 
lovely  hill-side  reaching  to  the  sea. 

"  Ah  !  "  mused  our  companion  with  a  sigh  : 
"it  is  a  pity  to  give  us  such  a  large  cemetery 
at  Cherchell,  where  the  air  is  so  healthy  that  we 
positively  never  die  !  " 

"Is  it  really  so?"  I  asked. 

"  So  healthy  that  people  never  die  except  of 
old  age,  Madame.  How  can  it  be  otherwise  with 
the  sea  on  one  side,  and  dry,  warm  hills  on  the 
other?  We  never  suffer  from  heat  or  cold,  ague 
or  fever :  and  though  life  is  a  little  monotonous 
here,  there  are  many  things  to  enjoy." 

Whilst  we  were  loitering  among  the  graves, 
reading  a  name  here,  removing  a  dead  rose  there, 
we  saw  a  strange  procession  hastening  down  a 
hill-side  opposite  to  us.  It  was  an  Arab  funeral. 
The  body,  wrapped  in  a  wretched  cerecloth  of 
thin  woollen  stuff,  was  borne  on  the  shoulders  of 
four  men  who  led  the  way,  the  mourners  and  tribe 
following.  As  they  went,  they  chanted  verses 
from  the  Koran;  and  the  weird  wail  of  the  litany 
and  the  wild  figures  of  the  men,  treading  down  the 
sweet  asphodels  in  their  haste,  and  bearing 
bunches  of  prickly  cactus  in  their  hands,  made  a 
strange  picture. 

There  was  one  poor  mourner  who  separated 


156  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

himself  from  the  crowd  in  his  great  grief,  and 
tottered  and  trembled  like  one  drunken,  whilst 
he  gave  utterance  to  such  moans  as  one  hears 
from  poor  beasts  robbed  of  their  cubs.  It  was 
pitiful  to  hear. 

The  others  walked  so  quickly  that  it  was  with 
much  ado  we  could  keep  up  to  them,  but  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  we  had  reached  a  solitary 
burial-ground  overlooking  the  sea. 

There  the  body  was  placed  into  a  shallow  grave, 
with  neither  coffin  nor  shroud,  the  face  turned 
towards  Mecca,  the  marabout  repeated  a  prayer 
for  the  dead,  the  grave  was  heaped  up  with  stones 
and  faggots  to  protect  it  from  the  jackals,  and  all 
was  over. 

The  solitariness  of  the  cemetery,  the  savage 
simplicity  of  the  rites,  the  wild,  yet  sorrowful, 
faces  of  the  crowd,  made  the  whole  scene  striking, 
but  not  so  striking  as  one  we  saw  early  next 
day. 

It  was  Friday,  the  Mussulman  sabbath,  and 
when  we  visited  the  new-made  grave,  we  found 
it  covered  with  branches  of  olive,  ilex,  and  up- 
rooted aloe,  whilst  a  group  of  female  mourners 
were  squatted  round  it,  chanting  the  virtues  of  the 
dead. 

There  was  something  eerie  in  their  white  figures 
and  monotonous  wail,  whilst  perhaps  the  lines  of 
smoke  rising  from  the  little  valley  below  re- 
minded them  of  souls  fleeing  upward;  and  the 


A   ROMAN   CITY  157 

broad  blue  sea  beyond  of  the  happy  eternity  for 
which  they  were  praying. 

I  am  not  sure  whether  the  prayers  for  the  dead 
around  Algiers  are  precisely  those  in  use  among 
the  tribes  of  the  Desert,  which  are  singularly 
touching  and  beautiful.  The  ceremony  is  almost 
the  same,  only  more  imposing.  If  the  deceased 
be  a  chief,  his  horse  is  led  in  the  procession  by 
a  slave,1  his  gun,  yataghan  and  spurs  being  hung 
from  the  saddle.  Hired  women  chant  lamenta- 
tions, and  all  the  tribe  follow  their  chief  to  the 
grave  echoing  the  marabout's  prayer :  "  There  is 
but  one  God,  and  Mohammed  is  His  prophet." 

On  another  day,  and  accompanied  by  other 
friends,  I  visited  the  Trappist  monastery  at 
Staoueli.  This  retreat  was  built  on  the  site 
of  that  battle  deciding  the  fall  of  Algeria  in 
1830. 

Leaving  Algiers,  the  road  curled  for  a  couple 
of  hours  amid  homesteads  of  French  colonists 
and  wastes  entirely  uncultivated.  As  we  as- 
cended, the  chain  of  the  Atlas  mountains  seemed 
to  rise  with  us,  and  by  and  by  we  had  a  glorious 
prospect  of  deep-blue  sea,  pale-purple  hills,  whose 
olive-clad  slopes  and  Moorish  villas  glistened 
against  a  wondrous  Eastern  sky.  When  we  had 

1  Slavery  is  now  forbidden  throughout  French  Africa,  i.e. 
the  portions  of  late  annexed ;  as  Captain  Haywood  tells  us  in 
Through  Timbuctoo,  1912,  a  slave  has  only  to  apply  to  the  local 
Commissioner  to  be  enfranchised. 


158  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

left  Algiers  some  miles  behind  us,  we  entered 
upon  an  extensive  plateau,  covered  with  the  fan- 
like  leafage  of  the  dwarf  palm,  laurustinus  in  full 
blossom,  clematis,  wild  rosemary,  and  other  lovely 
flowers.  The  Trappists  have  turned  their  land 
into  a  little  oasis  of  beauty  and  cultivation;  and 
no  sooner  had  we  come  within  sight  of  their 
territory  than  we  were  lost  in  admiration  of  the 
pastures,  orchards,  vineyards  and  cornfields. 

The  first  thing  that  struck  us  as  we  drove  to 
the  door  of  the  convent  was  this  inscription,  "  Les 
dames  n'entrent  pas  " ;  and  when  the  men  of  our 
party  were  carried  off  by  an  intelligent  Father 
Superior  to  see  the  farm  and  ateliers,  and  we 
ladies  were  left  in  a  dingy  little  parlour,  with  only 
a  heavy-looking  lay-brother  to  entertain  us,  I  felt 
inclined  to  rebel.  A  Mussulman  legend  came 
into  my  head,  which  might  very  well  have  served 
as  an  argument  against  these  woman-hating 
Trappists. 

All  true  believers,  as  is  generally  known, 
perhaps,  have  a  second  Koran  in  the  so-called 
Hadites,  or  Conversations  of  Mohammed.  One 
day,  when  the  Prophet  sat  amidst  a  circle  of 
disciples,  he  explained  the  Word  of  God  after 
this  fashion — 

"  Let  those  among  you  who  are  rich  enough  to 
support  one  or  more  wives,  marry.  When  a  man 
marries,  the  Evil  One  utters  a  terrible  cry;  all 
his  angels  fly  to  him,  asking,  '  What  is  the  matter, 


A  ROMAN   CITY 159 

Lord  ? '    'A  mortal  has  just  escaped  me,'  answers 
Satan,  in  despair." 

Now  I  defy  the  Trappists  to  tell  me  a  better 
story  on  their  side  than  this.  Mohammed  also 
added— 

"Protect  the  woman;  she  is  weak.  Marry 
young." 

Not  being  allowed  beyond  the  little  parlour, 
we  tried  to  get  all  the  conversation  possible  out  of 
our  host,  the  soft-voiced  brother  just  mentioned. 
He,  with  five  others,  carried  on  the  housekeeping, 
entertained  strangers,  doled  out  benefits  to  the 
poor,  and  lived  a  little  in  the  world.  By  way  of 
entertaining  us,  he  brought  out  rosaries  of  beads 
and  medals  —  of  Birmingham  manufacture- 
tempting  us  to  lay  out  a  few  francs  in  recollection 
of  our  visit.  He  next  showed  us  a  large  picture 
adorning  the  wall,  descanting  on  the  merits  and 
sanctity  of  the  donor  of  it,  adding,  with  a 
sigh- 

"  II  faut  faire  quelque  chose  pour  entrer  dans 
le  Paradis." 

It  did  not  seem  to  me  a  very  great  piece  of 
work  by  which  Paradise  was  purchased,  namely, 
the  gift  of  a  daub  in  oil-colours,  representing  the 
Madonna  and  Child ;  but  no  two  people  see  things 
alike.  After  a  time  he  brought  out  a  couple  of 
devotional  books,  begged  us  to  amuse  ourselves 
with  them,  and  went  away  "on  hospitable 
thoughts  intent."  We  found  the  books  not  quite 


160  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

to  our  taste,  and  preferred  a  stroll  up  and  down 
the  avenue  by  which  we  had  come.  The  outer 
wall  of  the  convent  was  covered  with  this  inscrip- 
tion, "  S'il  est  triste  de  vivre  a  la  Trappe,  qu'il 
est  doux  d'y  mourir !  ): 

Well  indeed  may  the  silence,  isolation  and 
hardship  of  the  life  at  Staoueli  make  death 
welcome ! 

When  we  returned,  a  plentiful  repast  of  black 
bread,  honey,  fresh  butter  and  figs  was  spread 
before  us,  accompanied  by  wine.  The  melan- 
choly frere  concierge  then  retired,  and  one  of  the 
brother  superiors  entertained  us.  He  was  a 
shrewd,  cheerful-looking  man  of  fifty,  quite  au 
courant  with  the  affairs  of  the  outer  world,  quick 
to  read  character,  and  apt,  I  should  say,  at  ruling 
his  fellow-creatures.  We  had  an  animated  dis- 
cussion on  the  present  state  of  the  Romish 
Church;  and  as  our  party  consisted  of  a  Swiss 
Catholic  gentleman  from  Berne,  his  Lutheran 
wife,  a  Churchman  and  myself,  there  was  a 
diversity  of  opinions  to  begin  with. 

I  have  ever  loved  a  heated  discourse,  so  true 
it  is,  as  the  fabulist  wrote — 

"La  dispute  c'est  d'un  grand  secours, 
Sans  cela  on  dormirait  toujours." 

What  company  could  have  been  more  disputa- 
tiously  inclined?  Accordingly,  straight  we 
plunged  into  burning  theological,  rather  sacer- 
dotal questions  of  the  day. 


A  ROMAN   CITY  161 

I  must  admit  that  we  were  no  match  for  the 
father.  He  was  so  apt,  so  witty,  so  well  trained 
as  a  dialectician,  that  we  were  all  tripped  up — by 
truisms — one  at  a  time.  This  he  saw,  of  course, 
delightedly.  When  other  subjects  were  brought 
forward,  our  host  had  plenty  to  tell  us  about  his 
convent  and  its  prospects.  He  seemed  pleased 
to  hear  his  wine  praised,  which,  with  everything 
else  on  the  table,  was  the  produce  of  the  Trappist 
farms,  and  brought  out  some  oranges  of  particular 
flavour  as  a  special  little  attention. 

We  were  quite  sorry  to  go,  and  promised  the 
father  we  should  not  easily  forget  either  our  talk 
or  our  entertainment.  There  is  something  else 
too  at  Staoueli  that  one  never  forgets,  and  that 
is  a  magnificent  group  of  palms  in  the  courtyard. 
So  many  palms  were  cut  down  when  the  French 
took  Algiers,  that  a  new-comer  cannot  fail  to  be 
disappointed  at  finding  them  scarce.  One  pic- 
tures how 

"  Mid  far  sands 

The  palmtree-cinctured  city  stands, 
Bright  white  beneath,  as  heaven  bright  blue 
Above  it." 

Whereas  palm  trees  are  so  scarce  about  Algiers, 
that  one's  heart  thrills  with  pleasure  to  see  them, 
but  instead  of  sands,  its  surroundings  are  all 
verdant  and  varied  hill  and  dale. 

We  drove  home  by  way  of  Sidi  Ferruch,  a 
dreary  spot  on  the  coast,  where  the  French  first 

M 


162  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

landed  in  1830.  From  thence  to  Algiers  our 
attention  was  chiefly  directed  to  the  French  farms, 
through  which  we  passed;  little  homesteads  crop- 
ping up  in  the  waste  with  almost  a  human  look 
of  sadness  about  them.  Here  and  there  one 
might  see  a  few  goats  and  sheep  herded  by  an 
Arab  boy;  or  a  horse  tethered  to  a  bit  of  broken 
wall ;  or  a  tiny  hut  that  might  have  been  Robinson 
Crusoe's,  around  which  children  were  playing  in 
the  sun.  The  sun  shone  brightly  on  those  poor 
little  homes  and  the  green  slopes  around  them, 
but  they  looked  desolate  nevertheless.  In  some 
places  we  saw  some  colonist  digging  up  the  pic- 
turesque but  pernicious  dwarf  palm;  and  in 
others,  potatoes  and  grain  had  been  planted 
between  little  knots  of  them,  as  if  the  task  of 
extermination  had  been  given  up  in  despair. 

The  last  few  miles  of  the  journey  from  Sidi 
Ferruch  to  Algiers  reminded  me  of  the  Cornish 
coast.  Bold  rocks  dip  sheer  into  a  transparent 
sea  of  pure  green ;  the  sands  are  white  and  shin- 
ing; the  waves  are  sometimes  dashed  with  tumult- 
uous fury  against  their  stormy  barrier,  and  some- 
times ebb  and  flow  so  gently  as  scarce  to  be  heard 
at  all. 

This  coast  is  full  of  interest.  At  one  point 
we  passed  a  ruined  Moorish  fort,  the  broken 
towers  projecting  over  the  sea  affording  to  sensa- 
tion novelists  excellent  scenes  for  murder. 

We   stopped  our   horses   and   explored   these 


A  ROMAN   CITY  163 

ruins,  as  far  as  exploration  was  safe.  Then  we 
took  coffee  in  a  quaint  little  Moorish  cafe,  looking 
upon  an  Arab  cemetery  crowded  with  ghost-like 
figures  draped  in  white,  Moorish  women  praying 
to  their  dead.  It  was  Friday,  the  Mohammedan 
Sabbath,  when  those  who  have  lost  husbands, 
fathers  or  children  flock  to  the  graveyards,  and 
commune  with  the  spirits  of  the  departed.  They 
take  kous-kous-sou,  the  national  food,  with  them ; 
they  call  on  the  dead  to  eat,  to  drink,  to  give 
counsel  or  comfort,  and,  so  they  say,  seldom  come 
away  unheard.  But  there  is  another  side  to  the 
picture.  These  women  lead  rather  dull  lives  at 
home,  and  if  they  don't  go  to  the  cemeteries  to 
pray,  they  go  just  the  same  to  see  their  friends 
and  make  merry.  Friday  is,  indeed,  their  only 
holiday.  Who  can  wonder  that  they  both  use  and 
abuse  it? 

Children  take  part  in  this  custom,  which  I 
imagine  represents  little  else  but  play  to  them. 
A  friend  of  mine,  an  artist  nevertheless,  told  me 
that  she  had  once  taken  a  youthful  Arab  into  a 
cemetery,  where  she  was  painting,  in  order  to  carry 
her  things  to  and  fro.  The  urchin  got  tired  of 
waiting  for  his  patroness's  penny,  and  after  a  time, 
coolly  squatted  himself  on  the  very  stone  she  was 
sketching. 

"  You  are  obstructing  my  view,"  said  the  lady 
in  French.  "  Please  go  farther." 

"  I  must  be  here,  I  am  praying  to  the  bones  of 

M  2 


164  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

my  father,"  answered  the  imp,  with  the  utmost 
nonchalance,  and  my  friend  began  to  copy 
another  tomb.  Immediately  her  little  persecutor 
changed  position,  as  effectually  hiding  the  second 
object  as  he  had  done  the  first.  On  being  a 
second  time  remonstrated  with,  he  retorted — 

"  I  must  be  here.  I  am  praying  to  the  bones 
of  my  grandfather." 

Perhaps  after  all  the  little  Mussulman  had  been 
taught  to  circumvent  what  might  be  regarded  as 
desecration  in  the  eyes  of  his  parents. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

FLOWERS  AND  FOUR-FOOTED 
"PRETTY  DEARS" 


CHAPTER    XIII 

FLOWERS    AND    FOUR-FOOTED   "  PRETTY  DEARS  " 

THE  flowers  of  Algeria  !  Who  having  seen  can 
describe,  who  not  having  seen,  can  imagine  them  ? 
We  here  only  realize  winter  by  shortened  days, 
twilight,  or  rather  night,  stealing  upon  us,  amid 
roses  and  violets,  at  Christmas  as  in  an  English 
September.  But  the  flowers  are  ever  there,  re- 
calling the  Prophet's  saying,  so  mystical  yet  so 
capable  of  homeliest  interpretation :  "  If  you 
possess  only  the  wherewithal  to  purchase  a  loaf 
or  flowers,  choose  the  flowers."  The  poorest  of 
the  poor  are  enjoined,  rather  thus  commanded,  to 
put  the  god-sent  before  earthly  needs.  To  under- 
stand Algeria,  or,  indeed,  any  Mohammedan 
country,  we  must  know  their  Bible  by  heart. 

For  tourists,  outsiders  and  mere  flower-lovers, 
this  semi-tropical  flora  has  a  special  and  not 
precisely  a  sympathetic  charm.  The  unending 
gardens,  the  continuous  parterre  around  us  may 
not  caressingly  woo,  now  awakening  tears,  now 
smiles.  Most  of  the  glorious  flower-heads  are 
new — all  possess  the  glamour  of  extreme  rareness. 

We  are  not  at  the  moment  reminded  of  some  tear- 

167 


168  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

wet  garland  lately  placed  upon  a  beloved  grave, 
or  of  ~a  posy  feting  some  equally  beloved  anni- 
versary. These  flowery  wastes  and  hot-house 
blossoms,  here  needing  no  glass,  have  had  neither 
part  nor  lot  hitherto  in  our  daily  existence.  We 
enjoy  them  without  tender,  imperative,  yet  at 
times  weariful,  even  heart-rending  claims  of 
association.  Ecstasy  is  relievingly  impersonal. 

When  English  hedges  glow  with  their  scarlets, 
the  fiery  red  of  the  holly  berry  and  the  softer 
vermilion  of  the  redbreast,  already  Algerian  wastes 
are  a-bloom  with  a  rich  ungarnered  harvest,  but 
the  flower-harvest,  unreaped  for  the  market,  is 
only  seen  in  unmatchable  splendour  from  Feb- 
ruary till  May.  Spring  covers  suburban  hills  with 
asphodels,  tulips,  irises,  crocuses  and  marigolds, 
sprouts  bursting  every  clod,  every  shower  quicken- 
ing, we  can  almost  see  them  grow.  The  banks  are 
as  thick  with  pink  and  white  cacti  as  our  own 
hedgerows  with  primroses  in  May. 

Relieving  this  dazzling  tessellation  is  the 
surrounding  foliage,  and  here  I  cite  Mme. 
Bodichon's  charming  description  of  a  scene  from 
her  own  house  :  "  The  little  group  of  olive  trees 
opposite  with  their  knotted,  gnarled,  twisted  stems 
and  delicate,  slender  branches  are  contradictions 
beyond  description  and  a  perpetual  delight  to  me. 
One  moment  the  foliage  is  a  dark  bluish  green, 
almost  black  in  some  aspects,  and  of  a  somewhat 
grave  and  solemn  expression.  At  the  least  breath 


FOUR-FOOTED  "  PRETTY  DEARS  '   169 

of  the  west  wind,  it  is  stirred  with  a  rustling  silvery 
ripple,  and  the  whole  tree  laughs  and  sparkles 
with  delight.  ,We  have  also  a  group  of  poplars, 
towering  over  the  savage  mass  of  spiked  aloes 
and  prickly  cacti.  Dwarf  palms  cover  the  slopes 
as  ferns  our  own  in  England  and  Wales.  I  have 
seen  Swiss  mountains,  Lombardy  plains,  Scotch 
lochs  and  Welsh  mountains,  but  never  anything 
so  unearthly,  so  delicate,  so  aerial  as  these  long 
stretches  of  blue  mountain  and  shining  sea,  the 
dark  cypresses  showing  against  a  background  of 
a  thousand  dainty  tints  and  the  massive  Moorish 
houses  gleaming  from  the  grey,  mysterious  green 
of  the  olive  woods." 

As  is  here  seen,  the  born  artist  was  also  an 
artist  in  words. 

Now  for  a  few,  a  very  few,  particularizations. 

The  common  asphodel,  with  its  tall  panicle  of 
delicate  yellowish  and  white  blossoms  is  a  ravish- 
ing flower  enough,  but  lovelier  still  is  the  lesser 
(albus)  and  less  frequently  found  kind,  with  its 
dainty  star-like  flower  of  purest  white,  and  as  a 
friend  has  beautifully  said,  "  full  of  light." 

Less  poetic  and  traditional  than  Persephone's 
flower,  but  of  more  striking  aspect,  is  the  ornitho- 
galum  lacteum,  having  dark  shining  leaves  and 
slowly  emerging  single  stem,  as  slowly  develop- 
ing a  glorious  pyramid,  each  pearly  globe  con- 
stituting the  mass  showing  a  tiny  jet-black  centre 
—one  of  Nature's  delight  in  contrasts  and  Shake- 


170  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

speare's  famous  simile  reversed.  The  ornitho- 
galum  is  a  long-lived  flower-head,  and  for  two  or 
three  weeks,  even  after  a  journey,  will  remain  fresh 
and  beautiful. 

Exquisiteness  embodied  are  also  the  African 
cyclamen,  with  its  great  polygonal  marbled  leaves, 
the  elegant  jonquil  (Bossier's  narcissus  oxypet- 
alus),  and  the  frolic  clematis  (cistus  cirrhosa)  fes- 
tooning the  olives  from  tree  to  tree,  hanging  in 
clusters  of  wax-like  bloom  as  they  join  hands. 
Then  there  are  the  golden,  purple  and  spotted 
flags,  reminding  us  of  Smyrna  and  the  East,  the 
fragrant  white  and  pink  cistus,  the  myrtles  and 
other  fragrant  plants,  and  instead  of  our  own  so 
welcome  but  humble  ficary,  gladdening  every 
mead,  hedgerow  and  childish  heart  in  England, 
Algeria  has  a  veritable  cloth  of  gold  in  her 
majestic  marigold !  Linnaeus,  who  fell  on  his 
knees  at  the  sight  of  flowering  gorse,  thanking 
God  for  the  gift,  like  many  another  genius, 
"should  have  died  to-morrow."  What  would 
have  been  his  ecstasy  here? 

I  now  turn  to  my  four-footed  "  pretty  "dears," 
the  jackals  and  hyenas,  whose  cries  and  howls 
disturbed  our  sleep  whilst  at  Fort  National,  in 
Kabylia,  and  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  cedar 
forest,  and  to  the  other  wild  beasts  mentioned 
throughout  these  pages.  Thereby  hangs  a  tale 
— and,  of  course,  a  moral.  Some  of  my  readers 
may  remember  an  affair  that  happened  at  Berne 


BOMBONNEL 


[To  face  p.  171. 


FOUR-FOOTED  "  PRETTY  DEARS  "  171 

many  years  ago.  A  half-drunken  waggish  Eng- 
lishman late  one  evening  made  a  wager  that  he 
would  descend  alone  into  the  pit  of  the  famous 
bears,  then  the  one  "  sight "  of  that  delightful  old 
Swiss  town.  How  it  came  about  that  the  madcap 
escaped  custodial  vigilance  I  do  not  remember. 
I  rather  think  that  the  raid  was  made  at  night. 
The  bears  were  like  the  animals  of  the  fable, 
they  were  so  extremely  vicious  that  when  at- 
tacked they  defended  themselves  !  Anyhow,  the 
unwelcome  intruder  was  mauled,  I  believe,  to 
death. 

This  occurrence  took  place  whilst  I  was  a  guest 
of  my  cousin,  the  late  Amelia  Blandf  ord  Edwards, 
then  residing  at  Westbury-on-Trim  with  a  friend, 
Mrs.  Braysher  by  name,  a  woman  of  much  spirit 
and  wit  and  a  passionate  champion  of  the  animal 
world;  she  had,  moreover,  lately  visited  the  famous 
bears  of  Berne.  As  she  read  the  Times  to  us  at 
breakfast — the  report  of  the  bully  and  his  recep- 
tion by  the  unoffending  animals,  she  dropped  the 
paper  and,  sighing  deeply,  ejaculated,  "Pretty 
dears !  " 

When  regarded  in  the  proper  light,  are  not  all, 
even  the  most  ferocious  animals,  "  pretty  dears  " ,? 
So  my  late  friend,  the  celebrated  Bombonnel,1 
averred,  and  if  in  deed  and  in  certain  circum- 
stances he  was  compelled  to  act  as  an  exterminator 

1  Died,  June  1890.  See  Bombonnd,  ses  Classes  (Hachette), 
also  my  own  Anglo-French  Reminiscences. 


172  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

of  the  non-man-eating,  he  was  a  benevolent  friend 
of  ail  and  a  most  keen  observer. 

It  is  owing  to  the  Dijonnais  hunter  and  franc- 
tireur,  on  whose  head  in  1870-71  a  price  was  set 
by  the  Prussian  Government,  that  certain  Algerian 
"  pretty  dears "  no  longer  carry  off  lambs,  goats 
and,  horrible  to  relate,  children  in  almost  suburban 
Algiers.  The  lion  and  the  panther  no  longer 
stalk  like  the  stealthy  grimalkin  around  caravan- 
serai and  farmery,  but  the  jackal,  with  its  wailing 
cry,  and  the  equally  unmusical  and  nocturnal 
hyena  prowl  in  search  of  prey  from  sunset  till 
dawn.  Between  sleep  and  sleep  we  always  heard 
their  discordant  notes  when  in  remote  regions. 

Yet  the  jackal  has  its  endearing  qualities,  the 
hyena  very  likely  also,  although  unchronicled  by 
my  friend.  Here  is  a  charming  story — which  I 
have  more  than  once  heard  recited — in  his  own 
inimitably  naive  and  racy  way,  and  here  give  it 
in  his  own  words.  This  astounding  little  man, 
who  without  any  education  but  that  of  the  village 
school,  attained  the  distinction  of  a  courtier  as 
far  as  manners  went,  and  wrote  classic  French, 
was  many  and  many  a  time  my  companion  when 
strolling  through  the  woods  and  vineyards  near 
Dijon.  Thus  he  tells  of  a  jackal  supremely  gifted 
with  resourcefulness — 

"  I  have  elsewhere  remarked  that  others  might 
be  induced  to  keep  my  open-air  vigils  if  they 


FOUR-FOOTED   "PRETTY  DEARS'5    173 

could  only  realize  their  charm.  During  the  three 
hundred  nights  spent  in  the  open  air,  of  which 
my  volume  is  the  chronicle,  no  more  amusing 
incident  occurred  to  me  than  that  I  am  about  to 
relate. 

"One  day,  tired  of  watching  in  vain  for  a 
panther,  I  was  about  to  return  to  Algiers,  an 
Arab  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Fendouck  said  to 
me — 

*  Stay  and  kill  some  of  the  wild  boars  that  ruin 
my  garden.  They  have  devoured  the  maize,  and 
now  are  attacking  my  potatoes  and  melons  just 
as  they  begin  to  ripen/ 

"As  he  undertook,  if  I  killed  a  wild  boar,  to 
let  me  have  it  carried  to  Algiers,  I  consented  to 
stay  one  night  more. 

"  Having  placed  myself  in  ambuscade  at  night- 
fall, I  soon  perceived  an  enormous  jackal,  who 
came  sniffing  along  the  melons,  first  looking  at 
one,  then  another,  finally  concentrating  his  atten- 
tion on  one  which  seemed  exactly  to  his  taste. 
Looking  warily  about  him,  he  now  quietly  gnawed 
it  off  the  stalk;  then,  still  very  wary  and  afraid  of 
lookers-on,  he  rolled  it  gently  along  the  ground. 

*  The  garden,  I  must  explain,  was  an  enclosure, 
every  part  of  which  was  surrounded  by  a  gently 
inclined  mound,  and  the  difficulty  confronting  my 
jackal  was  how  to  get  his  melon  to  the  top.  Once 
or  twice  as  he  rolled  it  carefully  upwards,  it 
escaped  him,  bounding  to  the  middle  of  the 


174  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

garden.  He  now  caught  hold  of  the  melon  by  the 
broken  stem,  and  tried  to  back  up  the  slope  with 
his  heavy  burden,  the  melon  weighing  not  less  than 
seven  or  eight  pounds. 

"  Exactly  half-way  up,  the  stem  breaking  off,  the 
melon  escaped  him,  and  came  tumbling  down  the 
slope.  My  jackal  followed  in  perplexity,  and 
assuring  himself  that  there  was  now  nothing  to 
catch  hold  of,  took  breath,  evidently  much 
fatigued  and  disappointed.  I  could  not  help 
laughing  in  my  sleeve,  and  uttered  a  prayer  to 
St.  Hubert  that  he  would  keep  away  the  wild  boars 
for  a  time.  I  imagined  my  companion  to  be  at 
the  end  of  his  resources,  and  wanted  to  see  what 
he  would  do.  He  now  uttered  a  cry,  something 
like  the  bark  of  a  dog,  which  was  answered  by  a 
similar  cry  about  three  hundred  yards  off,  and 
soon  another  jackal  made  his  appearance,  having 
been  evidently  summoned  to  help.  The  pair 
regarded  the  melon  very  deliberately,  then 
together  rolled  it  up  the  slope  with  their  snouts, 
and  I  was  secretly  congratulating  them  on  their 
well-earned  success,  when,  lo !  down  tumbled  the 
melon  to  the  bottom  as  before. 

'  The  jackals  followed  and  seemed  to  take 
counsel  together;  then  gently  rolling  the  melon 
to  the  foot  of  the  mound,  the  first  throwing  him- 
self on  his  back,  takes  it  between  his  paws;  the 
second  holds  firm  to  his  companion  by  the  jaw, 
and,  climbs  backward.  The  matter  is  now  happily 


FOUR-FOOTED  "PRETTY  DEARS'  175 

under  weigh  !     I  watch  the  curious  manoeuvre, 
each  jackal  performing  his  part  with  the  utmost 
care;  and  at  last  see  them  disappear  over  the 
embankment  with  their  honestly  deserved  spoil. 
"  Well  might  the  fabulist  exclaim— 

'Qu'on  m'aille  soutenir  apres  un  tel  recit, 
Que  les  betes  n'ont  point  d'esprit!' 

'  This  curious  scene  had  so  absorbed  my  atten- 
tion that  I  do  not  think  the  aggressive  grunt  of  a 
wild  boar  would  have  distracted  me.  I  have,  I 
confess,  spent  some  nights  in  ambuscade  that  were 
long  and  wearisome  enough,  but  by  way  of  com- 
pensation some  have  been  delightful,  not  the  least 
the  one  I  now  describe. 

"  I  shot  a  wild  boar  that  night,  and  had  the 
pleasure  of  presenting  the  flesh  to  my  friends  at 
Algiers." 

Who  after  this  delightful  story  will  not  forgive 
the  ugly,  unsightly,  but  supremely  ingenuous 
animal  for  having  disturbed  their  nightly  slum- 
bers? Who  would  not  here  ejaculate — like 
Amelia  Blandford  Edwards'  friend — "  Pretty 
dears !  " 


CHAPTER  XIV 
MORE  "  PRETTY  DEARS 


CHAPTER   XIV 

MORE  "PRETTY  DEARS" 

HERE  are  two  more  stories — rather  recitals — 
this  time  of  that  absolutely  untamable  wild  beast, 
the  panther — so  averred  his  great  enemy,  Bom- 
bonnel,  after  many  years'  experience.  The  first, 
as  the  forerunner,  deals  with  the  frugiferous  tastes 
of  these  carnivora ;  the  second  gives  a  terrib!0  fight 
and  an  amiable  family  picture. 

"  I  had  hardly  been  a  week  at  Algiers,  one  year, 
when  Nabi  came  to  fetch  me,  saying  that  a  panther 
was  devouring  the  goats  of  a  certain  tribe,  and 
that  I  need  not  wait  for  the  moon.  The  marauder 
was  so  audacious  I  should  be  sure  to  surprise  him 
in  broad  daylight,  he  said.  I  set  out  next  day 
with  him  for  the  mountains,  where  we  were  looked 
forward  for  with  much  impatience.  Twenty  goats 
had  been  devoured  by  the  panther  within  a  week. 
The  Kaid  received  me  warmly,  and  as  I  lay 
reposing  under  his  fig  tree  a  crowd  of  Arabs  came 
to  look  at  me.  They  wanted  to  see  if  I — the 
panther-slayer — were  like  other  men  to  look  at, 
and  at  last  had  to  be  driven  away,  being  so 
troublesome.  They  went  away,  but  returned  in 

N2  I79 


180  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

an  hour's  time  laden  with  provisions,  intended  as 
picsems  to  me.  To  repay  such  politeness  I  was 
obliged  to  taste  of  everything.  The  Arabs  reli- 
giously observe  the  law  of  hospitality,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  commands  of  the  Prophet :  '  Be 
generous  towards  your  guest,  for  in  coming  he 
brings  you  a  blessing ;  on  his  departure  he  carries 
away  your  sins  ' ;  and  elsewhere  :  '  God  will  never 
do  harm  to  the  hand  that  has  bestowed.3  During 
your  stay  you  are  one  of  the  family;  your  host 
takes  you  under  his  protection,  and  feels  respon- 
sible for  your  comfort  and  well-being.  I  was  not 
only  a  guest  here,  but  regarded  in  the  light  of  a 
champion  against  a  terrible  enemy.  Thus  my 
arrival  was  the  signal  for  a  fete.  After  our  repast 
we  were  regaled  with  Arab  music,  the  women  and 
children  looking  on  from  a  distance.  My  arms 
were  a  subject  of  great  curiosity  to  the  men,  and 
my  Lefaucheux  gun  aroused  the  greatest  astonish- 
ment and  admiration.  c  The  French  know  every- 
thing/ said  these  mountaineers ;  '  they  can  do 
everything  except  hinder  death !  '  At  sunset  the 
Arabs  performed  evening  prayer  and  ablution  by 
the  river-side.  I  would  fain  then  have  retired, 
but  they  insisted  on  keeping  up  the  festivities  till 
midnight. 

"  Next  morning  I  was  sound  asleep  and 
wrapped  up  in  my  burnouse,  when  an  Arab  shook 
my  arm,  crying, '  Roumi,  Roumi,  the  panther ! '  I 
looked  up,  and  saw  indeed  a  panther  on  the  eleva- 


MORE    "PRETTY   DEARS'1          181 

tion  opposite  dragging  a  goat  it  had  just  pounced 
upon.  To  charge  my  gun  and  follow  was  the 
work  of  a  minute,  but  the  animal  had  already 
vanished  in  the  brushwood.  I  nevertheless  hid 
myself  near,  hoping  it  would  return,  and  for  four 
hours  waited  without  stirring  an  inch.  My  teeth 
now  began  to  chatter  with  cold,  and  I  trembled  all 
over,  partly  from  chill  and  hunger;  on  a  sudden 
I  heard  something  brushing  the  thicket,  my  trem- 
bling disappeared  as  if  by  magic,  and  I  prepared 
to  take  aim,  when  lo !  there  emerged  the  friendly 
head  of  a  dog !  The  Arabs  had  come  to  see  if  I 
would  have  something  to  eat.  I  bade  them  not  to 
disturb  me  till  nightfall.  All  sensation  of  hunger 
had  passed  away. 

"  I  saw  nothing  that  day,  and  next  morning 
returned  to  the  same  spot,  this  time  being  pro- 
vided with  food  and  my  burnouse,  which  I  had 
forgotten  in  my  excitement  yesterday.  That  day 
and  the  next,  however,  were  equally  unsuccessful, 
although  the  panther  still  continued  to  carry  off 
the  goats. 

"  I  now  lay  in  wait  at  night,  but  equally  to  no 
purpose,  and  was  at  length  compelled  to  return 
to  Algiers,  en  route  for  France.  On  the  eve  of 
my  departure  two  Arabs  came  to  me  from  the 
same  neighbourhood,  begging  that  I  would  go 
and  rid  them  of  a  panther  that  was  eating  up  all 
their  figs  under  their  very  noses* 

"  The  panther,  as  a  rule,  is  very  fond  of  figs, 


182  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

and,  standing  on  its  hind  legs,  will  draw  'down  the 
branches  as  cleverly  as  a  man.  All  the  unripe 
ones  are  rejected;  and  when  no  more  in  a  suffi- 
ciently ripe  state  remain  within  reach  he  looks  at 
those  beyond,  perhaps  consoling  himself  after  the 
manner  of  the  fox  with  regard  to  the  grapes. 
Never,  as  is  sometimes  affirmed,  will  it  climb  the 
trees.  I  have  never  yet  found  an  Arab  willing  to 
spend  a  night  with  me  in  the  brushwood,  but  they 
will  constantly  climb  a  tree,  and  watch  for  the 
panther  there,  knowing  well  they  thus  run  no  risk. 
"  I  was  obliged  to  refuse  this  invitation,  how- 
ever, and  set  out  for  France,  promising  to  go  in 
search  of  panthers  on  my  return  in  the  autumn." 

My  friend's  exploits  as  panther-slayer  had 
taken  place  many  years  before  my  own  acquaint- 
ance with  the  colony.  He  always  spent  the 
summer  in  his  Burgundian  home,  so  familiar  and 
dear  to  me  somewhat  later.  The  second  of  these 
stories  he  called  "  the  happy  family." 

"  In  the  following  December  I  returned  to 
Algiers,  and  hardly  was  I  arrived  when  Nabi  came 
to  tell  me  of  the  depredations  of  a  panther  among 
the  tribe  of  the  Bon  Mardas;  we  immediately  set 
out,  and  as  I  had  already  rid  these  good  people 
of  an  enemy,  my  reception  was  of  the  most  flatter- 
ing kind.  I  have  upon  more  than  one  occasion 
made  the  remark  that  in  matters  of  hospitality  we 


MORE    "PRETTY  DEARS'3          183 

have  something  to  learn  from  the  Arabs.  No 
orders  given  here,  none  received.  Each,  naturally 
and  as  a  matter  of  course,  sets  to  work  to  prepare 
the  feast,  and  apparently  without  being  put  out  of 
his  way.  Whilst  enormous  preparations  were 
being  made  for  the  feast,  some  of  the  Arabs  enter- 
tained me  with  the  panther's  depredations.  But 
for  the  extravagant  joy  they  testified  on  my 
arrival,  I  must  have  accused  them  of  exaggeration 
in  this  matter.  For  twelve  days,  they  told  me, 
although  the  panther  continued  to  destroy  as 
before,  it  hardly  ate  anything.  My  informants 
declared  that  the  panther,  like  themselves,  kept 
a  month's  fast  at  Ramadhan !  I  have,  indeed, 
observed  that  at  certain  seasons,  although  it 
destroys  for  the  pleasure  of  destruction,  the 
panther  is  almost  herbivorous.  When  the  feast 
was  over  I  minutely  examined  the  environs  of  the 
douar,  or  Arab  village,  and  at  last  fixed  upon  a 
ravine  opening  into  others  still  deeper;  above  was 
a  bit  of  rising  ground,  thickly  grown  with  lenlisk 
bushes,  and  here  by  sunset  I  had  seated  myself 
for  the  night. 

"  It  was  about  ten  o'clock  when  there  emerged 
from  the  bottom  of  the  gorge  a  sound  so  like  the 
noise  of  a  camel  as  to  be  easily  mistaken  for  it. 
A  panther  was  coming  towards  me  at  a  distance 
of  about  two  hundred  yards.  Soon  I  could  dis- 
tinguish the  voice  of  a  second  panther  about  a 
hundred  yards  from  the  first,  and  then  the  voice 


184  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

of  a  third  about  twenty-five  yards  off.  The  savage 
warning  of  the  third  was  enough  to  make  even  a 
hunter  shudder. 

"  The  first  panther  now  paused  and  listened, 
followed  by  two  others,  each  arriving  from  a 
different  direction,  and  seeking  the  first,  evidently 
two  males  in  quest  of  the  female,  with  low,  hoarse 
roars.  As  soon  as  the  last  two  came  up,  ensued 
the  battle ;  and  vain  were  it  for  me  to  describe  by 
any  words  at  command  the  awful  noise  made  by 
the  combatants.  Never  was  human  ear  greeted 
by  uproar  so  frightful.  The  roar  filled  the  gorge 
and  was  echoed  by  the  mountain  sides.  My  heart 
beat  fast,  but  not  with  joy;  I  uttered  no  prayer  to 
St.  Hubert ;  I  had  no  time  to  think  of  it,  but  had 
I  done  so  it  would  have  been  this  time  to  rid  me 
of  the  panthers. 

"  The  hideous  battle  lasted  about  a  minute, 
when  the  roar  seemed  to  come  from  a  greater 
distance,  and  was  soon  echoed  by  the  sides  of  the 
neighbouring  ravine.  The  scene  of  the  struggle 
had  been  an  impenetrable  thicket,  but  I  shall  ever 
regret  that  I  made  no  attempt  to  get  nearer  and 
see  whether  one  of  the  panthers  had  fallen. 

"  I  watched  eight  successive  nights  in  these 
parts,  but  saw  nothing;  and,  the  moon  being  on 
the  wane,  I  was  compelled  to  give  up  the  search. 
The  following  month,  a  deputation  of  tatter- 
demalion Arabs  waited  upon  me,  begging  me  to 
visit  their  tribe,  and  rid  them  of  a  female  panther 


MORE    "PRETTY   DEARS'3        185 

and  two  young  ones  working  terrible  destruction 
among  their  flocks  and  herds.  The  weather  was 
very  unfavourable,  but  the  moon  was  in  her  first 
quarter,  so  I  consented.  On  the  very  day  of  my 
arrival  the  panther  had  carried  away  a  sheep  in 
broad  daylight  and  in  sight  of  the  shepherd. 

"  I  spent  six  nights  lying  in  wait,  but  to  no 
purpose.  Snow  was  falling,  and  upon  one  occa- 
sion I  had  three  inches  of  it  on  my  shoulders, 
which  I  could  not  get  rid  of  till  morning.  As  the 
panther  had  evidently  quitted  the  neighbourhood, 
I  gave  up  this  spot.  An  Arab  belonging  to  the 
neighbouring  tribe  now  came  to  tell  me  that  the 
said  panther  had  just  killed  a  calf  belonging  to 
his  people.  I  at  once  set  off  with  him,  and  he 
showed  me  the  ravine  into  which  the  animal  had 
dragged  its  prey.  As  it  was  very  narrow  and 
densely  wooded,  I  posted  myself  on  the  crest  of 
a  neighbouring  hill,  although  the  night  promised 
to  be  dark  and  rainy. 

'  True  enough,  there  came  such  a  deluge  of 
rain  as  we  do  not  see  in  France,  and  after  having 
endured  it  for  several  hours  the  Arabs  came  to 
fetch  me.  We  reached  the  gourbi  soaked  to  the 
skin,  and  dried  ourselves  by  a  large  fire;  unfor- 
tunately there  was  no  chimney,  so  that  by 
daybreak  we  were  as  smoke-dried  as  German 
sausages. 

"  It  had  rained  all  that  night,  thus  enabling  me 
to  trace  the  panther's  footsteps,  for  it  had  come 


186  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

near  my  ambuscade  and  carried  off  a  goat,  drag- 
ging it  to  the  bottom  of  the  ravine  for  her  little 
ones.  I  had  begun  to  descend  in  search  of  the 
family,  whom  I  hoped  to  find  at  breakfast,  when 
all  at  once  the  Arabs  called  out  to  me  from  above 
to  go  up  to  them.  I  made  the  best  of  my  way, 
and  they  then  pointed  to  the  rising  ground  in 
front,  on  the  top  of  which,  they  said,  was  a  garden 
planted  with  fig  trees,  and  in  this  garden  a  panther 
looking  at  us. 

"  I  looked  a  long  time  without  being  able  to 
distinguish  anything,  but  at  last  saw  what  I  took 
to  be  a  cow  lying  on  the  ground.  One  of  the 
Arabs  then  guided  my  eyes  to  another  point  higher 
still.  Here  I  did  indeed  see  a  panther,  with  its 
head  turned  to  us,  at  a  distance  of  about  three 
hundred  yards.  This  was  the  male.  A  hundred 
yards  nearer,  half  hidden  by  the  trees,  was  the 
female,  which  I  had  at  first  taken  for  a  cow.  A 
hundred  yards  off  were  the  two  little  ones.  They 
were  about  the  size  of  average  bulldogs,  and  were 
playing  together  very  prettily.  All  four  were 
basking  in  the  sun,  till  the  brushwood  should  dry 
a  little  after  the  rain. 

"J  determined  to  flank  the  ravine  and  surprise 
the  male.  I  begged  the  Arabs  to  be  quiet  and 
plunged  into  the  thicket,  but  when  half-way 
through  I  found  it  impossible  to  get  any  further, 
and  had  to  turn  in  another  direction.  The 
Arabs  now  shook  their  burnouses,  a  sign  to  make 


MORE   "PRETTY  DEARS"         187 

me  turn  Hack,  and,  seeing  that  I  still  persisted, 
shouted  that  I  was  taking  a  wrong  path.  Their 
noise  and  gesticulations  seemed  to  disturb  the 
male  panther;  he  rose,  uttering  a  low  roar,  the 
mother  fetched  her  little  ones,  and  the  happy 
family  took  refuge  in  the  gorge. 

"  I  lay  in  wait  in  different  places  and  on  several 
successive  nights,  but  without  success.  I  had  here 
to  do  with  cunning,  suspicious  animals,  who,  for 
fear  of  being  surprised  in  their  lair,  changed  it 
every  day.  The  want  of  moonlight  compelled  me 
to  go,  to  the  great  regret  of  the  Arabs." 

In  later  years  my  friend  the  great  hunter  had 
planned  to  take  me  with  him  one  evening,  not  to 
slay  panthers,  but  to  enjoy  what  our  neighbours 
call  un  nouveau  frisson,  i.e.  the  experience  of  a 
night  spent  amid  haunts  of  these  "pretty  dears." 
Such  delights  were  frustrated  by  the  chasse  aux 
hommes,  that  career  of  the  franc-tireur  in  1870-1, 
after  which  Victor  Hugo  declared  that  a  few  more 
Bombonnels  would  have  turned  the  scale  and 
given  France  the  victory ! 


CHAPTER  XV 
PLAGUE  AND  FAMINE 


CHAPTER   XV 

PLAGUE    AND    FAMINE 

MY  experiences  of  the  Golfe  du  Lion,  a  de- 
servedly accorded  name,  have  not  figured  among 
travelling  agreeables.  After  a  stormy  crossing, 
during  which  in  sight  of  Marseilles  we  had  to  put 
for  some  hours  to  sea,  however,  we  arrived  safe 
and  sound,  but  to  find  the  great  P.M.G.  line  to 
the  capital  blocked  with  snow.  It  was  a  case  of 
"snowed  up  at  Eagles."  When  after  several 
days  the  line  was  cleared,  myself  with  other 
tourists  coming  almost  penniless  from  their  holi- 
day, had  not  the  wherewithal  to  pay  our  bills  and 
a  railway  fare.  As  it  happened  I  had  laid  out 
some  thirty  pounds  on  an  Arab  rug,  pottery  and 
so  forth,  and  at  once,  seeking  the  patron  of  the 
big  Hotel  du  Louvre,  asked  for  a  loan  of  the  cost 
to  Paris,  and  proposing  to  leave  my  cases  behind 
as  a  guarantee.  With  the  most  affable  air  possible 
Monsieur  replied— 

"  Madame,  all  the  funds  you  require  for  your 
journey  by  first-class  are  freely  at  your  disposal, 
take  your  cases  and  let  me  hear  from  you  at  your 
entire  convenience." 

I  add  that  I  was  returning  alone,  and  at  that 
191 


192  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

time  there  was  no  system  of  procuring  money  by 
telegraph  at  a  moment's  notice. 

I  had  hardly  reached  England  when  the  follow- 
ing note  reached  me.  The  date  was  April,  and 
the  writer  Mme.  Bodichon. 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  be  sorry  to  hear  of  the 
calamity  that  has  befallen  our  pleasant  Algiers,  and 
that  the  poor  people  are  altogether  desolated  and 
despairing,  so  unexpectedly  has  it  come  upon  them. 

"In  the  midst  of  this  lovely  weather,  when 
everything  was  looking  so  luxuriant  and  beautiful, 
the  vegetables  in  perfection,  the  flowers  blooming 
everywhere,  the  fields  promising  an  early  and 
abundant  harvest — when  all  was  hope  and  cheer- 
fulness, the  locusts  have  come  ! 

"  I  much  fear  that  all  this  beauty  and  abund- 
ance will  be  turned  into  a  bare  and  arid  wilder- 
ness, and  my  heart  aches  for  the  ruined  and  starv- 
ing people  we  shall  soon  leave  behind.  There 
were  rumours  last  week  that  the  locusts  had 
reached  the  plain  of  the  Metidja,  and  had  there 
committed  some  ravages,  but  it  was  hoped  that  the 
wind  might  change  and  drive  them  into  the  sea. 
Last  Thursday  morning  one  of  our  maids — little 
Katherine,  whom  you  know,  came  running  into 
my  room,  looking  white  and  ghastly,  and  crying, 
c  Les  sauterelles  !  les  sauterelles  !  "  I  rushed  to 
the  window  and  saw  what  looked  to  b"e  some  small 
glittering  birds  flying  over  my  lower  field.  It 


PLAGUE   AND   FAMINE  193 


was  the  beginning  of  a  great  storm.  They  came 
in  millions  and  trillions  of  billions !  I  can  give 
you  no  idea  of  their  numbers.  The  air  was  full 
of  them.  It  was  like  a  black  storm  of  the  largest 
hailstones  you  ever  saw.  If  you  could  only  have 
seen  the  wondrous  sight ! 

"  In  a  moment,  as  it  were,  the  whole  population 
was  in  a  state  of  frightful  excitement,  and  many 
folks  were  weeping  aloud.  Poor  little  Katherine's 
heart  was  all  but  breaking  for  the  expected  desola- 
tion of  her  father's  and  brother's  little  farms. 
The  people  turned  out  shouting,  screaming,  beat- 
ing kettles  and  frying-pans  with  sticks  and  stones, 
firing  guns,  and  waving  handkerchiefs  to  prevent 
the  destroyers  from  settling  on  their  field.  This 
has  been  going  on  around  Algiers  during  the  last 
few  days,  till  the  poor  people  are  quite  worn  out. 
Some  have  had  soldiers  to  help  them,  but  all  in 
vain.  The  advanced  guard  seen  in  front  were 
speedily  increased  to  an  enormous  army,  till 
nothing  else  could  be  seen.  Soon  they  began  to 
settle,  and  the  work  of  destruction  went  on  apace. 
They  have  devoured  our  neighbour's  fine  crop  of 
potatoes  and  peas;  but  it  is  much  worse  for  the 
small  farmers  like  poor  Katherine's  people,  who 
have  lost  all  their  wheat,  besides  vegetables.  I 
am  so  sorry  for  them.  The  Bouzareah  and  the 
fertile  slopes  of  Mustapha,  which  you  know  so 
well,  are  all  bare  now.  I  much  fear  the  poor 
people  will  suffer  from  famine. 


194  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

"  Such  a  visitation  of  locusts  has  not  befallen 
Algiers  for  twenty-two  years ;  it  was  a  strong  wind 
from  the  Desert  that  brought  them  here.  A  lady 
just  come  from  Laghouat  tells  us  that  they  were 
lying  many  inches  deep  on  the  road  through 
which  they  drove. 

"Just  now  the  air  is  so  thick  with  them  that  it 
is  quite  unpleasant  to  be  abroad.  You  have  to 
keep  waving  your  parasol  to  keep  them  off  your 
face,  and  they  alight  on  your  skirt,  and  stick  there 
by  means  of  their  hooked  feet.  In  look  they  are 
like  immense  grasshoppers,  with  yellow  and  green 
bodies,  as  long  and  thick  as  your  middle  finger. 
Dr.  Bodichon  says  that  each  female  lays  ninety 
eggs.  The  weather  is  close  and  warm,  with  a 
sirocco  blowing.  We  only  hope  for  a  strong  wind 
to  come  and  blow  them  into  the  sea.  The 
children  run  about  all  day  catching  the  locusts  and 
sticking  them  on  long  pins;  at  first,  the  sight 
horrified  us,  but  the  creatures  cause  so  much  suffer- 
ing that  one  gets  hardened  to  it.  Thousands  and 
hundreds  of  thousands  are  thus  caught,  but  what 
is  that  out  of  thousands  and  thousands  of  millions  ? 

"April  29. — The  locusts  keep  coming  in  great 
clouds  and  disappear  for  a  while.  To-day,  from 
early  morning  till  one  o'clock,  they  were  thicker 
than  ever,  and  in  those  few  hours  have  done  a 
great  deal  of  mischief.  We  had  a  thunderstorm 
last  night,  but  little  rain ;  had  it  fallen  in  torrents 
it  would  have  been  a  blessing,  for  the  poor  people 


PLAGUE   AND   FAMINE  195 

are  in  dread  now  of  the  sickness  that  usually 
follows  a  swarm  of  locusts.  We  leave  for  Europe 
in  a  few  days,  and  are  glad,  for  it  makes  one's 
heart  sick  to  witness  so  much  misery  one  is  power- 
less to  alleviate ! 

"  Fortunately  the  plague  is  one  of  rare  occur- 
rence ! 

"And  now  good-bye  and  au  revoir !  How 
sorry  I  am  that  our  golden  days  in  Algeria  should 
have  had  such  a  deplorable  ending !  " 

Then  indeed  came  home  to  Biblical  readers  the 
poetic  words  of  the  prophet  Joel — why,  by  the 
way,  do  the  minor  prophets  and  poets  so  often 
touch  us  more  than  the  major? — describing,  as  we 
learn,  a  similar  horridness  he  had  witnessed : 
"  That  which  the  palmer  worm  hath  left,  hath  the 
locust  eaten  .  .  .  the  field  is  wasted,  the  land 
mourneth  .  .  .  the  vine  is  dried  up  and  the  fig  tree 
languisheth,  the  pomegranate  tree,  the  palm  tree 
also  and  the  apple  tree,  all  the  trees  are  withered. 
Alas,  for  the  day !  How  do  the  beasts  groan  ! 
The  herds  of  cattle  are  perplexed,  because  they 
have  no  pasture,  yea,  the  flocks  of  sheep  are  made 
desolate !  " 

And  as  in  Joel's  time,  famine  followed  on  the 
heels  of  plague.  Needless  to  say,  that  although 
settled  in  England  for  the  summer,  Dr.  and  Mme. 
Bodichon  most  generously  contributed  to  the 
French  and  Algerian  relief  funds.  The  great 
o  2 


196  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

Cardinal  Lavigerie  worked  wonders  in  the  way 
of  collecting  money,  and,  humanly  speaking,  all 
was  done  that  could  be  done  to  relieve  the  pre- 
vailing misery.  No  such  scourge  had  as  yet 
visited  the  garden  of  the  Hesperides  under  French 
rule. 

One  English  friend,  the  late  Mrs.  Bridell-Fox, 
spent  the  following  summer  in  Algiers,  Mme. 
Bodichon  having  lent  her  the  large  villa  of  which 
I  have  spoken.  This  is  her  report  of  the  dog 
days— 

"  Of  course  it  was  very  hot,  but  I  never  felt  so 
well  in  my  life.  My  appetite  was  enormous,  and 
I  could  sleep  very  well.  For  some  days  the 
sirocco  blew,  and  then  it  was  awful,  even  up  here 
at  Mustapha.  The  lovely  prospect  of  the  city, 
green  hills,  sea  and  mountains,  were  all  one  yellow 
blur.  If  you  touched  a  stone  lying  in  the  sun  the 
skin  came  off  your  fingers.  Dogs  died  of  heat  in 
the  streets,  and  sunstrokes  were  of  daily  occur- 
rence. This  house  was  then  full  of  Kabyle  work- 
men, and  they  all  took  a  siesta  in  the  middle  of 
the  clay,  dropping  asleep  in  the  corridors — on  the 
stairs — anywhere.  In  the  evening  it  was  pleasant, 
except  during  sirocco." 

A  French  author  gives  the  following  account  of 
the  last-named  phenomenon  in  Algiers— 


PLAGUE   AND   FAMINE  197 

"  The  rains  have  ceased.  A  drop  of  water 
would  be  a  phenomenon.  The  heavens  seem 
turned  into  copper.  Nevertheless,  the  tempera- 
ture maintains  itself  at  moderate  degrees.  I  have 
seen  evenings  sufficiently  fresh  as  to  make  woollen 
clothes  necessary.  And  from  midday  till  six 
o'clock  we  have  the  sea-breeze,  which  produces 
the  effect  of  an  immense  fan,  and  neutralizes  the 
effect  of  the  heat. 

"  I  must  now,  as  a  conscientious  narrator,  tell 
you  something  about  the  sirocco.  It  was  during  a 
former  summer  that  I  was  turning  over  the  pages 
of  a  book  at  the  reading-rooms,  when,  the  sun 
being  too  hot,  I  rose  to  open  the  Venetian  blind. 
As  I  'did  so  I  felt  myself  repulsed  as  if  by  the 
flames  of  a  great  fire. 

( The  sirocco ! '  cried  some  one  close  by. 

'  You  have  doubtless  passed  before  the  mouth 
of  a  furnace  or  of  a  locomotive.  The  sirocco 
produces  precisely  the  same  impression.  The  air 
was  full  of  a  dust  so  thick  and  fine  that  one  at 
first  mistook  it  for  a  fog.  The  green  hills  of 
Mustapha  were  quite  hidden.  The  azure  peaks 
of  the  Atlas  were  drowned  in  a- bath  of  fire. 

'  The  passages,  galleries  and  arches  of  the  old 
and  new  town  preserved  their  usual  temperature, 
but  in  the  broad  open  streets,  and  especially  along 
the  quays,  the  heat  was  stupefying. 

"  People  put  their  hands  in  their  pockets  and 
put  up  their  coat-collars  to  protect  themselves 


198  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

from  the  heat.  The  Arabs,  whose  costume  is  so 
appropriate  to  the  climate,  enveloped  themselves 
in  their  burnouses  as  in  winter. 

"  The  leaves  of  the  trees  faded  before  the  eye. 
After  periods  of  a  heavy  and  suffocating  calm 
came  squalls  of  stinging  wind.  The  clouds  of 
flying  sand  soon  eclipsed  the  disk  of  the  sun; 
and  the  different  shades,  yellow,  orange,  saffron 
and  lemon,  melted  into  a  mass  of  copperish  colour 
impossible  to  describe.  The  covers  of  my  books 
were  shrivelled  as  if  they  had  been  lying  a  whole 
day  before  the  fire.  When  in  company  with  some 
officers  I  happened  to  touch  the  sword  of  one  of 
them  my  hand  was  seared  as  by  a  hot  iron." 

There  is  no  accounting  for  tastes,  and  it  was 
one  of  the  late  Mr.  Brabazon's  perpetual  regrets 
that  he  had  not  also  once  accepted  the  loan  of 
Mme.  Bodichon's  villa  and  enjoyed  similar  expe- 
riences. Again  and  again  the  charming  'impres- 
sionist said  to  me :  "  Ah,  that  proffered  ville- 
giatura  at  Mustapha  Superieure !  How  could  I 
have  missed  it  ?  " 


PART   II 
MY  SECOND  SOUTHING 

CHAPTER  XVI 
THE   START 


CHAPTER    XVI 

THE    START 

Qui  boit,  boira !  When,  in  the  following 
October,  my  super-energetic  and  super-endowed 
friend  of  Girton  fame  invited  me  to  return  with 
her  to  Algiers,  "  taking,"  as  she  put  it  with  happy 
unconcern,  "a  few  things  on  the  way,"  could  I 
possibly  refuse?  Having,  moreover,  just  finished 
a  novel  which  was  already  in  the  hands  of  the 
printer,  and  leaving  my  little  farm  to  the  care  of 
a  worthy  "head  man,"  I  immediately  prepared 
scrip  and  scrippage. 

Mme.  Bodichon's  programme  was  as  follows  :— 
to  journey  from  Paris  to  Bayonne,  halting  at  the 
great  agricultural  reformatory  of  Mettray,  near 
Tours,  thence  to  Libourne  and  St.  Foy  on  the 
hanks  of  the  Dordogne,  in  order  to  visit  Pastor 
Bost's  famous  orphanage  for  idiots,  spending  two 
or  three  days  in  both  places. 

Then  the  dreary  Landes  must  be  traversed — a 
region  retraversed  and  described  by  myself  years 
after — next  we  were  to  visit  the  pine  forests  and 
salt  baths  of  Arcachon,  and,  stage  by  stage,  Biar- 
ritz, Burgos,  Madrid,  Toledo,  Cordova,  Malaga 
—from  that  town  sailing  to  Oran. 


2OI 


202  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

Between  the  African  coast  and  our  final  destina- 
tion "just  a  few  things  more,"  my  friend  had 
said,  "lay  on  our  way";  namely,  Tlemcen,  the 
Granada  of  the  East,  the  astounding  ruins  of  a 
Moorish  capital  built  after  the  expulsion  from 
Spain,  being  the  chief  reason  of  such  a  round- 
about journey;  Saida  on  the  borders  of  the 
Sahara,  Mascara,  and  other  romantic  villages  of 
the  Metidja;  to  say  nothing  of  inspecting  schools, 
lunatic  asylums  and  prisons  whenever  they  came 
in  our  way.  And  as  our  lucky  stars  would  have 
it,  despite  checks  without  tale,  delays  equally 
innumerable,  floods,  brigands  and  earthquakes,  at 
last  we  reached  Mustapha  Superieure  safe  and 
sound,  our  itinerary  having  been  carried  out  to 
the  last  item.  The  reformatory  for  unruly  lads, 
rich  as  well  as  poor,  of  Mettray,  the  even  more 
pathetic  collection  of  embryo  humanity  of  La 
Force,  semi-idiots,  idiots,  and  the  absolutely 
brainless,  had  both  been  inspected,  the  tourists 
being  hospitably  entreated  by  their  founders. 
What  hosts,  indeed,  to  remember !  French  his- 
tory records  no  more  angelic-minded  men, 
no  more  apostolic  names  than  those  of  Demetz 
and  Pastor  Bost,  the  first  spending  his  days 
in  an  atmosphere  of  moral  twilight,  the 
second  in  the  still  gloomier  turgidity  of  mental 
darkness. 

We  plodded  through  everything,  at  Burgos 
seeing  all  that  Ford  had  enjoined,  in  Madrid 


THE   START  203 


religiously  carrying  out  our  dear  friend  Brabazon's 
charge,  there  studying  Velasquez  and  Velasquez 
only — with,  of  course,  a  visit  to  the  appalling 
Escurial  and  a  shuddering  ten  minutes  in  the  bull- 
ring— this  being  shirked  by  my  companion.  In 
Toledo — to  my  thinking  the  most  wonderful  show 
of  Spain — we  spent  many  happy  days,  traversed 
Don  Quixote's  country,  dwelling  upon  the  most 
engaging  heroine  of  fiction,  Dulcinea  del  Toboso, 
as,  buxom  and  blunt  of  speech,  she  winnowed 
corn;  then,  with  equal  unhaste  and  ever  increas- 
ing enthusiasm,  we  lingered  at  Cordova.  Who, 
indeed,  would  visit  Spain  without  seeing  what  was 
once  the  rival  of  Cadiz  in  wealth  and  traffic,  the 
birthplace  of  sage,  poet  and  philosopher,  of 
Seneca,  Lucan  and  Averroes,  the  seat  of  a  splendid 
Caliphate,  its  history  like  a  chapter  from  the 
Arabian  Nights — alike  the  Athens  and  Bagdad 
of  Western  Mohammedanism. 

From  Cordova  to  Malaga  we  journeyed  at  a 
snail's  pace  through  the  scenery  so  wondrously 
portrayed  by  Gustav  Dore  in  his  Don  Quixote. 
That  volume — one  of  the  half-dozen  great  books 
of  the  world — must  never,  as  Ford  has  said,  be 
out  of  the  traveller's  hand  in  Spain. 

Having  reached  Malaga,  where  we  hoped  to 
find  a  steamer  bound  for  Oran,  we  experienced 
an  amusing  instance  of  Spanish  nonchalance.  No 
one  ever  seemed  to  know  or  to  care  anything 
about  practical  matters,  and  many  years  later, 


204  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

when  revisiting  Spain,  I  found  this  national 
characteristic  unchanged. 

To  obtain  information  regarding  steamers  for 
Oran  was  impossible.  Hither  and  thither,  to 
steamship  office  and  office,  we  ran,  one  official 
after  another  dismissing  us  with  the  proverbial 
"  No  se  "  (I  don't  know) ;  we  telegraphed  to  head- 
quarters at  Gibraltar,  we  wrote  dozens  of  letters, 
we  spent,  rather  squandered,  time,  money  and 
patience  to  no  purpose,  and  meantime  beguiled 
the  time  by  seeing  "just  a  few  things."  Among 
these  sights  were  some  orphanages  founded  by  a 
young,  rich,  beautiful  and  inconsolable  Spanish 
widow.  Having  lost  both  husband  and  children, 
this  lady  devoted  her  fortune  and  energies  to  good 
works.  Very  zealously  an'd  under  the  direction 
of  a  sweet-faced  sister  we  made  the  round  of 
infant  schools,  class-rooms  for  advanced  pupils, 
and  work-rooms,  seeing  some  beautiful  hand-made 
lace  and  embroidery.  Each  girl's  earnings  were 
set  aside  for  herself,  as  a  dowry  when  she  should 
come  of  age.  Mme.  Bodichon,  educationalist 
and  philanthropist,  always  insisted  upon  seeing 
everything  and  going  into  particulars,  myself 
being  a  mere  looker-on. 

At  last  came  just  a  glimmer  of  hope.  When 
almost  on  the  point  of  retracing  our  steps,  we 
heard  that  there  was  really  a  weekly  boat  to 
Algeciras,  and  thence  a  fortnightly  boat  to 
Gibraltar,  both  of  which  we  had  just  missed.  So, 


THE   START  205 


trusting  to  the  tardigrade  statement  and  having 
several  days  at  our  disposal,  we  decided  to  fill  up 
the  interval  by  a  run  to  Granada. 

A  run,  did  I  say !  It  is  always  at  tortoise's 
pace  that  anything  is  achieved  in  this  provocative 
but  most  bewitching  country.  So  to  Granada  we 
hied,  there  enjoying  a  spell  of  unmixed  enchant- 
ment, the  quintessence  of  romance.  Lodged  in 
the  delightful  Ortiz  Hotel  of  the  Alhambra 
gardens,  we  felt  that  we  hardly  wanted  to  see 
more — that  this  enchanted  spot  might  be  the 
"  utmost  limit  of  our  farthest  sail."  So  delicious 
were  our  surroundings,  so  moving  the  associations 
of  every  spot — and  so  great  the  charm  of  my 
Spanish  mistress ! 

For  at  every  halting-place  in  Spain  neither  of 
us  were  in  the  least  bit  of  a  hurry.  I  had  engaged 
a  teacher,  and  it  is  owing  to  those  lessons,  crumbs 
of  grammar,  syntax  and  idiom  picked  up  by  the 
way,  that  I  owe  an  acquaintance  at  first  hand  with 
the  majestic  Spanish  tongue,  and  my  enjoyment 
of  Lope  de  Vega,  Calderon,  Cervantes  and  their 
gifted  followers,  dramatists,  poets  and  novelists 
of  later  epochs  and  of  to-day. 

What  a  carnival  was  that  stay  in  the  Alhambra 
gardens  !  So  rich  in  health,  spirits  and  resources 
were  both  of  us  that  even  the  inspection  of  a  Casa 
de  locos  or  lunatic  asylum  did  not  rebut.  And  of 
course  there  were  "just  a  few  things"  more: 
potteries,  gardens,  Spanish  dances,  Sunday 


206  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

parades  of  wealth  and  fashion,  to  say  nothing  of 
Granada  itself  and  of  the  Generalife — lightest, 
airiest,  most  fairy-like  summer-house  ever  reared 
by  Oriental  devotee  of  fountains,  running  streams, 
and  bosquets  of  rose  and  myrtle. 

But  time  was  going  fast.  Reluctantly  we 
decided  to  go  whence  we  had  come,  and  if  nothing 
better  offered,  charter  a  fisherman's  lateen  sail  for 
Gibraltar.  All  the  old  difficulties  about  boats  now 
recommenced;  and  much  as  we  disliked  Malaga, 
which  seemed  hotter,  dustier  and  fishier  than 
before,  we  waited  and  waited,  At  last  we  learned 
somehow  that  there  was  really  a  little  steamer, 
called  the  Adriana,  doing  weekly  journeys 
between  Malaga,  Algeciras,  and  Malaga  and 
Tangier,  and  that,  on  account  of  a  cholera  scare, 
all  direct  communication  between  our  halting- 
place  and  Gibraltar  had  ceased  for  a  time.  On 
the  Adriana  we  must,  therefore,  build  our  hopes. 
Nothing  remained  for  us  but  to  tarry  and 
exercise  patience. 

What  made  our  very  fates,  as  it  were,  hang 
upon  the  Adriana  was  the  information  received 
by  telegram  that  a  boat  left  Gibraltar  for  Oran 
on  the  following  Friday.  It  was  now  Monday, 
and,  according  to  all  accounts,  this  boat  was  to 
return  on  Tuesday  or  Wednesday,  and  sail  for 
Algeciras  the  next  day.  But  Tuesday  passed, 
and  Wednesday  came;  people  prophesied  bad 
weather;  and  the  Adriana  did  not  appear.  Cer- 
vantes and  his  fellow-captives  at  Algiers  hardly 


THE   START  207 


looked  oftener  for  the  ship  that  was  to  deliver 
them  than  did  we  for  the  Adriana.  We  were 
always  running  down  to  the  beach  and  straining 
our  eyes  after  some  imaginary  sail.  But  none 
appeared ;  and  we  were  dining  in  rather  a  melan- 
choly state  at  the  prospect  of  losing  our  boat  to 
Oran,  when  the  master  of  the  hotel  sent  us  a 
message  that  the  Adriana  had  arrived,  and  would 
set  out  for  Algeciras  at  seven  o'clock  next 
morning. 

We  had  splendid  weather  for  the  trip.  The 
dawn  was  grey  and  pearly,  and  from  its  heart,  like 
some  gorgeous  bird  slowly  soaring  from  a  dusky 
nest,  arose  the  warm,  brilliant,  southern  sun.  The 
sea  was  smooth  as  a  lake;  the  sky  of  deepest, 
warmest  blue;  the  mountains  of  loveliest  form  and 
colour;  the  little  sailing-boats,  fairy  things,  seen 
in  so  enchanted  a  scene  and  atmosphere  !  Words, 
indeed,  fail  to  give  any  idea  of  this  beautiful  coast 
scenery ;  but  it  must  be  seen  on  such  a  day  as  we 
saw  it. 

One  is  not  accustomed  to  think  much  of  the 
beauty  of  Gibraltar,  and  the  first  sight  of  it  was 
quite  a  surprise  to  me.  The  Cornish  coast  has  no 
finer  view  than  this  colossal  mass  of  limestone 
rock,  and  the  colour  of  it,  so  grey,  silvery  and 
soft  against  a  light  blue  sky,  is  something 
indescribable. 

We  had  been  assured  again  and  again  that 
we  should  reach  Algeciras  in  time  to  get  into 
Gibraltar  that  night;  but,  as  the  afternoon  wore 


208  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

on,  public  opinion  on  board  veered.  The  cap- 
tain, who  seemed  quite  confident  about  the 
matter  at  noon,  an  hour  later  shook  his  head 
gravely. 

"  You  doubt,  senor,"  I  said,  "  whether  we  shall 
reach  Algeciras  in  time,  and  whether  we  shall  find 
means  of  getting  into  Gibraltar  ?  " 

"  I  doubt  both,"  he  replied. 

"  But,"  I  continued,  "  we  are  going  to  start  for 
Oran  by  the  steamer  that  leaves  Gibraltar  to- 
morrow. It  is  absolutely  necessary  that  we  get 
into  Gibraltar  to-night,  or  the  steamer  may  have 
left." 

"  I  don't  say  that  you  can't  do  it,  senora,"  he 
said ;  "  but  there  are  difficulties.  It  is  difficult  to 
get  into  Gibraltar  by  sea  at  all,  on  account  of  the 
quarantine,  and  after  four  o'clock  it  is  impos- 
sible." He  pulled  out  his  watch.  "  I  am  afraid 
by  the  time  we  reach  Algeciras  it  will  be  too  late 
for  that.  As  to  riding  round  the  bay,  if  we  get 
into  harbour  in  pretty  good  time,  and  if  you  can 
get  horses,  and  if  it  is  tolerably  light,  why,  you 
can  do  it,  of  course." 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait;  and  the 
captain's  prognostics  proved  true.  We  did  not 
reach  Algeciras  in  time  to  get  into  Gibraltar- 
supposing  there  had  been  boats  to  take  us,  which 
there  were  not;  and  as  to  the  latter  part  of  his 
speech,  that  was  also  true;  for  there  was  no 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  riding  round  the  bay  that 
night,  except  that  there  were  no  horses;  and  if 


THE   START  209 


there  had  been  horses,  there  was  no  time ;  and  if 
there  had  been  time,  there  was  no  light. 

There  is  only  one  inn  at  Algeciras,  and  hither 
flocked  all  the  unhappy  passengers  by  the 
Adrlana,  clamouring  for  horses,  mules,  boats, 
guides,  anything  so  long  as  they  could  get  into 
Gibraltar  that  night. 

It  was  a  universal  cry  of  "  A  horse,  a  horse,  my 
kingdom  for  a  horse  !  "  You  would  have  fancied 
that  everybody's  life  hung  upon  getting  into 
Gibraltar.  I  think  some  of  the  men  did  get 
horses,  but  they  were  lucky  exceptions;  and  the 
little  inn  was  so  crowded  as  to  present  the  appear- 
ance of  a  camp.  Beds  were  made  up  ex  improvise 
all  over  the  house,  and  we  had  to  content  our- 
selves with  an  insectivorous  hole  of  a  room,  boast- 
ing neither  window  nor  chimney,  nor  chair,  nor 
table,  nor,  indeed,  any  furniture  but  two  poor 
beds,  and  fleas  innumerable. 

Before  retiring  to  this  cell  for  the  night,  how- 
ever, we  had  a  very  good  dinner  seasoned  with 
some  racy  gossip  of  Gibraltar  life.  We  were  too 
tired  to  dine  at  the  tables  d'hote  (wise  travellers 
will  avoid  tables  d'hote  when  possible),  and  pre- 
ferred to  eat  the  crumbs  that  fell  from  other 
travellers'  tables  afterwards.  These  were  served 
to  us  in  a  pleasant  little  comedo? ',  looking  towards 
beautiful,  inhospitable  Gibraltar,  with  its  thousand 
lights  shining  like  tiers  of  stars  above  the  dark 
blue  bay.  The  waiter,  who  called  himself  an 
Englishman,  though  on  what  grounds  I  cannot 


210  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

precisely  determine — perhaps  because  he  was  born 
within  sound  of  Gibraltar  gun-fire — served  the 
dinner,  and  then  sat  down  to  see  us  eat.  He  was 
so  young,  so  evidently  overworked,  and  so  uncon- 
ventional that  we  took  this  familiarity  as  a  matter 
of  course,  and  listened  to  what  he  had  to  say. 

"  You  seem  to  be  the  only  waiter  in  the  place," 
we  observed;  "  how  do  you  manage  to  attend  upon 
everybody?  " 

He  sighed  a  very  long  sigh. 

"It's  awful  work,"  he  said,  in  his  queer  Gib- 
raltar English,  "  since  the  quarantine  regulation 
keeps  everybody  out  of  Gib.  I  am  ready  to  drop 
of  fatigue  now,  and  this  sort  of  thing  has  been 
going  on  for  weeks.  We  don't  get  to  bed  till 
midnight,  and  we  are  up  at  four  or  five  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  and  sleep  just  anywhere.  The 
quarantine  is  ten  times  worse  than  the  cholera." 

"  You  are  English?"  I  asked,  a  little  cautiously. 

"  The  Lord  be  praised,  I  am !  Oh !  the 
Spaniards  are  a  bad  set,  I  assure  you;  and  don't 
we  pitch  into  'em  when  we  get  a  chance  !  It  was 
not  very  long  ago  that  we  had  a  regular  fight,  six 
Englishmen  against  six  Spaniards,  all  of  us  young 
men,  and  the  Spaniards  came  off  very  shabbily. 
We  killed  one  outright." 

"  How  shocking  !  But  do  you  mean  to  say  that 
the  police  don't  interfere  ?  " 

"  That's  as  it  happens.  The  English  have 
no  business  in  Algeciras,  you  know,  and  if  the 
Spanish  gendarmes  disturbed  themselves  when- 


THE   START  211 


ever  knives  are  drawn,  they'd  have  an  uneasy  time 
of  it." 

He  went  on  to  tell  us  some  more  stories  about 
the  state  of  society  in  Algeciras,  which  we  took 
cum  grano  sails,  having  no  personal  experience 
of  it. 

"  Shall  I  not  take  mine  ease  at  mine  inn  ? "  was 
not  applicable  to  the  unfortunate  people  whom 
unhospitable  Gib.  had  driven  into  Algeciras.  We 
dined  pretty  well  because  we  were  not  dainty;  but 
so  stringent  were  the  quarantine  regulations  that 
such  refreshing  luxuries  as  lemonade,  vegetables 
and  fresh  fruits  could  not  be  had  for  love  or 
money.  Whatever  we  asked  for,  and  we  only 
asked  for  very  simple  things,  "  was  at  Gibraltar  "; 
indeed,  everything  was  at  Gibraltar — except  the 
fleas! 

We  went  to  bed  early,  having  ordered  horses  and 
Spanish  saddles  at  six  o'clock  next  morning;  but 
the  above-named  pest  would  let  us  have  no  sleep. 
There  was  no  armour  against  them  but  Spanish 
patience.  Glad  indeed  were  we  when  morning 
came,  and,  after  a  hasty  toilet  and  a  cup  of  poor 
coffee,  we  descended  to  the  street,  being  informed 
that  the  horses  were  ready.  The  word  ready  does 
not,  however,  bear  its  English  signification  in 
Spain.  If  you  have  ordered  a  horse  in  England 
and  you  are  told  it  is  ready,  you  know  that  you 
have  only  to  put  on  hat  and  gloves  and  mount, 
In  Spain  it  suffices  for  an  animal  to  exist,  or  for 
a  thing  to  be  known  to  be  somewhere,  and  they 
p  2, 


212  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

are  both  ready.  We  had  made,  perhaps,  an 
unwise  bargain,  but  the  only  one  that  seemed 
possible  to  make,  in  ordering  horses  of  two  pro- 
prietors— two  of  a  very  big  Spaniard  and  one  of  a 
very  small  Englishman.  Of  course  this  led  to  all 
sorts  of  complications,  but  I  must  tell  my  story 
from  the  beginning.  In  the  first  place,  on  being 
told  that  the  horses  were  ready,  and  not  finding 
them  on  the  spot,  we  sent  a  man  to  look  after  the 
lad  who  had  gone  to  look  after  the  little  boy  who 
had  gone  to  look  after  the  horses  that  the  Spaniard 
and  Englishman  had  promised  to  send,  but  didn't. 
When  the  man  had  come  back  to  say  that  the  lad 
told  him  that  the  little  boy  told  him  that  the  men 
told  him  they  were  coming,  we  resigned  ourselves 
for  a  while,  and  by  and  by  the  men  and  the  horses 
did  indeed  come.  But  then  ensued  an  altercation 
as  fierce  as  any  detailed  by  Homer.  It  was  like 
the  fable  of  the  big  boy  with  the  little  coat,  and 
the  little  boy  with  the  big  coat.  The  English- 
man's horse  was  small,  but  he  had  only  a  large 
saddle,  and  the  Spaniard  had  only  a  small  saddle 
for  a  very  large  horse.  There  was  what  is 
popularly  called  a  "row,"  and  the  inhabitants  of 
Algeciras  turned  out  like  a  swarm  of  bees  to  see 
and  hear  and  take  part  in  it.  This  commotion 
lasted  nearly  an  hour,  and  not  till  two  hours  from 
the  time  of  our  descent  into  the  street  did  we 
set  off. 

The  ride  round  the  bay  was  so  full  of  gracious, 
soothing  beauty  that  we  soon  forgot  all  the  dis- 


THE   START  213 


comforts  gone  through  before.  The  atmosphere 
of  early  morning  is  always  delicious  in  the  South ; 
and,  to-day,  the  pale-blue  bay,  the  green  heights, 
the  glistening  white  sands,  the  terraced  city,  and 
the  grey  rocks,  seen  through  so  transparent  a 
medium,  looked  more  like  a  reflection  of  a  beauti- 
ful scene  than  a  scene  itself. 

We  rode  quite  close  to  the  water's  edge,  and 
the  musical  plashing  of  the  waves,  and  sweetness 
and  softness  of  the  air,  would  have  healed  any 
weariness  of  flesh  and  spirit,  I  think.  We  were 
weary  enough  at  starting,  but  had  grown  quite 
fresh  and  strong  by  the  time  we  had  reached  the 
"  Lines." 

The  only  drawback  to  this  delicious  drive  was 
the  discomfort  of  my  mount  and  the  garrulousness 
of  my  guide.  Unlike  that  learned  theologian, 
Pierre  Pol,  cited  by  Montaigne,  who  had  a 
plaisante  assiette  on  his  mule,  and  thus  jogged 
about  the  streets  of  Paris,  I  was  most  uncomfort- 
ably seated.  The  fat  Spaniard  led  the  way  on 
his  best  horse  with  the  baggage,  looking  the  pic- 
ture of  slothful  self-satisfaction,  my  friend — a 
splendid  horsewoman — jauntily  caracoled  on  his 
second  best  horse,  a  veritable  Bucephalus  com- 
pared to  my  own  Rozinante,  the  Englishman's 
small,  incapable  beast,  which  had  evidently  been 
ill-baited  and  overworked  for  days  past. 

There  are  some  people,  luckily  very  few,  who 
inspire  one  with  instinctive  repugnance,  and  this 
little  Englishman,  as  he  called  himself,  was  one. 


214  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

He  was  so  small,  freckled  and  ugly,  so  conceited, 
and  so  envious  of  the  big  Spaniard,  that  he 
reminded  one  of  the  frog  in  sEsop's  Fables,  which 
tried  to  blow  itself  out  to  the  size  of  the  ox. 

"  Look  at  that  fellow  going  there,"  he  said  in 
his  queer  Gibraltar  English,  and  pointing  to  his 
enemy ;  "  he  is  the  most  vicious  man  in  the  world, 
and  would  as  soon  stick  a  knife  into  you  as  look 
at  you.  Just  because  I  set  up  as  a  horse-dealer 
and  let  out  animals,  he  spites  me  so  that  he  would 
kill  me  if  he  dared;  but  I'm  an  Englishman,  and 
he  just  knows  that  he'd  better  keep  his  hands  off 
me.  He  is  as  mad  as  a  hornet  because  you 
English  ladies  employed  me,  although  he  hadn't 
another  horse  in  the  world.  When  English 
travellers  come  to  Algeciras,  whom  do  you  sup- 
pose they  would  employ,  sefiora,  an  Englishman 
or  a  Spaniard  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  they  would  pick  the  Best  horses," 
I  replied  wickedly ;  "  that  is  the  most  important 
point." 

He  looked  at  his  own  poor  brute  a  little  rue- 
fully. "  I'd  back  my  horse  against  any  in  Gib- 
raltar when  he  is  fresh,"  he  said,  "but  he  went 
this  same  journey  late  last  night,  and  has  been 
hacking  at  it  for  days." 

"  Precisely,"  I  answered,  "he  can  only  just  put 
one  foot  before  the  other,  and  if  the  saddle  hurts 
him  as  much  as  it  does  me,  the  sooner  I  get  off 
the  better  for  both  of  us." 

"  Yes,  I  know  the  saddle  goes  badly,"  he  went 


THE   START  215 


on  in  the  same  aggrieved  tone ;  "  but  it's  all  that 
bad  man's  fault.  His  saddle  just  fits  Bobby  here, 
and  this  one  is  just  twice  too  big.  I  ran  home  and 
got  the  very  pillows  from  under  my  wife's  head, 
who  is  ill  of  ague,  but  they  slip  off  like  nothing." 

"  I'm  sorry  you  robbed  your  wife  of  her 
pillows,"  I  said;  "but,  pillows  or  no  pillows,  my 
saddle  is  as  uneven  as  a  gridiron,  whilst  the 
sefiora  yonder  rides  as  comfortably  as  possible." 

"  Oh  yes ;  that  bad  man  is  rich,  you  know,  and 
can  afford  to  have  everything  nice.  It's  just  such 
men  as  he  who  eat  up  poor  young  beginners  like 


us." 


" Of  course,"  I  answered  coolly;  " the  man  may 
be  bad  or  good,  but  so  long  as  he  supplies  good 
horses  and  comfortable  saddles,  he'll  find  cus- 
tomers— though  he  is  a  Spaniard,  and  were  to 
run  a  knife  into  somebody  every  night." 

We  were  now  on  English  ground,  and  fancied 
ourselves  in  England.  The  change  happened  all 
on  a  sudden.  We  had  been  in  Spain  a  few 
minutes  back.  Spain  was  not  a  hundred  yards 
off,  and  now  we  were  at  home,  among  home-like 
faces,  friendly  voices,  and  familiar  scenes;  and 
over  our  heads,  on  the  crest  of  the  grand  old  rock, 
waved  the  jolly  Union  Jack.  There  was  a  hunt 
outside  the  town,  and  we  met  parties  of  officers 
in  scarlet  accompanied  by  fair-haired  girls  manag- 
ing their  thoroughbreds  as  Englishwomen  can; 
groups  of  red-haired,  clear-complexioned  High- 
landers stood  about  the  camps,  and  the  infantine 


216  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

population  of  some  English  village  seemed  out  at 
play  on  the  grass;  sturdy  housewives  were  cook- 
ing, washing,  and  nursing  babies  in  the  tents ;  the 
roads  were  no  longer  break-neck  bridle-tracks,  but 
real,  broad,  smooth  roads,  hard  and  fit  for  use ;  the 
Spanish  soldier,  in  tight  moccasins  and  short 
brown  cloak,  had  disappeared  as  if  by  magic, 
giving  way  to  the  scarlet  coat,  kilt,  and  trim  cap 
with  elastic  band. 

The  Spanish  lines  are,  indeed,  no  more  nor  less 
than  a  handful  of  houses  called  by  courtesy  the 
town  of  La  Linea.  In  Ford's  time,  La  Linea 
consisted  of  "  a  few  miserable  hovels,  the  lair  of 
greedy  officials  who  live  on  the  crumbs  of  Gib- 
raltar"; at  least  so  he  wrote  of  it  in  1839,  but  we 
were  assured  that  there  was  now  a  decent  inn, 
and  that  it  is  quite  possible  for  belated  travellers 
to  sleep  there.  The  contrast  between  Spain  and 
England — two  opposed  countries  placed  in  such 
strange  juxtaposition — is  most  striking.  You  pass 
in  five  minutes  from  a  land  of  sleepy,  blissful 
lethargy  to  a  stirring,  bustling,  look-alive  seaport 
and  garrison  town.  I  dare  say  Gibraltar  would 
not  be  a  pleasant  place  to  live  in,  but  after  spend- 
ing so  many  weeks  among  people  who  think 
nothing  in  the  world  worth  hurrying  about,  and 
no  one's  time  of  the  slightest  importance  what- 
ever, it  was  delightful  to  breathe  the  business-like, 
martial  air  of  the  place.  You  cannot  help  doing 
in  Spain  as  the  Spaniards  do,  and  by  the  time 
you  have  traversed  the  length  and  breadth  of  Old 


THE   START  217 


Castile  and  Andalusia,  you  must  be  of  a  very  un- 
impressionable temperament  indeed  if  you  have 
not  imbibed  the  genius  loci,  that  indescribable 
Oriental  habit  of  living  from  morning  to  night 
without  the  least  inclination  to  trouble  oneself 
about  anything  under  the  sun. 

Here  in  Gibraltar  you  feel  at  once  subjected 
to  the  spirit  that  rules  it.  The  streets  are  alive 
with  music;  the  sharp  fife,  the  warlike  cornet, 
the  rolling  drum ;  there  is  always  a  "  recall "  being 
sounded,  or  a  reveil  or  a  gun  being  fired.  You 
might  fancy  war  was  going  on  from  the  constant 
bustling  to  and  fro  of  regiments  and  recurrence 
of  signals.  And  there  is  a  stirring  air  about  the 
streets.  The  town  is  alive  with  people  all  intent 
on  business  or  pleasure,  and  if  you  have  any  busi- 
ness on  hand,  you  find  means  of  doing  it  quickly 
and  satisfactorily. 

The  day  was  delicious,  and  at  the  Club-house 
Hotel  we  were  met  by  my  friend's  cousin,  Colonel 

— ,  who  carried  us  off  to  his  pretty  home  out- 
side the  town,  and  introduced  us  to  his  wife  and 
beautiful  little  fair-haired  child.  The  house  com- 
manded a  lovely  view  of  the  sea,  and  was  sur- 
rounded by  roses  and  geraniums  in  full  bloom; 
otherwise  we  might  have  imagined  ourselves  in 
England,  so  thoroughly  English  was  the  house- 
hold. We  had  a  long,  busy,  delightful  day  at 
Gibraltar,  driving  about  in  the  Colonel's  pretty 
English  carriage ;  and  the  very  name  of  the  place 
will  always  be  pleasant  to  me  on  account  of  the 


218  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

wonders  of  nature  and  art  we  saw  there,  the 
brilliant  atmosphere  that  made  every  impression 
doubly  vivid,  above  all,  the  graceful  and  hearty 
hospitality  of  our  host  and  hostess.  Gibraltar  is 
superlative.  Sorry,  indeed,  were  we  that  we  could 
not  make  it  the  head-quarters  of  excursions  to 
Ronda,  Tangier  and  Tetuan.  As  it  was,  we  saw 
something  of  the  stupendous  galleries  tunnelled 
in  the  rock,  of  the  bastions  and  batteries,  of  the 
marvellous  scenery  from  the  heights,  and  some- 
thing of  the  gay,  rattling,  picturesque  town.  We 
saw  nothing  of  the  apes — a  little  colony  which 
have  the  topmost  crags  all  to  themselves,  and 
are  most  religiously  and  wholly  tabooed,  no  one 
being  allowed  to  molest  or  kill  them — and  nothing 
of  the  three  hundred  classes  of  plants  which  are 
said  to  flourish  on  the  rock. 

At  nine  o'clock  gun-fire  we  left  the  port  in  an 
open  boat,  and  after  an  hour's  rowing  reached  our 
steamer,  the  Spakis.  The  night  was  glorious,  and 
the  sea  as  smooth  as  glass.  Overhead  shone 
myriads  of  large  bright  stars,  and  the  lights  of 
Gibraltar  made  a  lesser,  but  hardly  less  brilliant, 
firmament  lower  down.  We  thought,  as  we  looked 
alternately  at  those  shining  fields  above  and 
below,  that  we  had  happy  auspices  for  our  onward 
journey. 


CHAPTER   XVII 
NEMOURS    (NOT   BALZAC'S) 


CHAPTER    XVII 

NEMOURS  (NOT  BALZAC'S) 

WE  had  originally  intended  to  take  tickets  for 
Oran,  but  finding  that  the  Spahis,  if  weather  per- 
mitting, stopped  at  a  little  town  called  Nemours, 
we  resolved  to  halt  there.  The  African  namesake 
of  Balzac's  favourite  townling,  scene  of  Ursule 
Mirouet,  had  much  to  recommend  it.  By  this  plan 
we  saved  ourselves  twenty-four  hours  of  sea,  and 
alighted  at  a  point  on  the  African  coast  much 
nearer  Tlemcen  than  Oran.  The  weather 
favoured  us.  When  we  awoke  next  morning  the 
sun  shone  bright  and  warm  in  a  cloudless  sky, 
and  the  steamer  was  gliding  gently  as  a  swan 
over  the  still,  lake-like  waters. 

The  sea-passage  between  Gibraltar  and  Oran 
is  a  dull  one,  and  in  our  case  it  was  especially  so, 
as  we  were  the  only  first-class  passengers,  except- 
ing an  old  French  gentleman,  an  employe  of  the 
Imperial  Messagerie  Company,  who,  with  his  son 
and  daughter-in-law — a  bride  of  a  few  days — was 
bound  also  to  Nemours. 

One  great  resource  was  a  bundle  of  English 
newspapers  kindly  supplied  to  us  at  Gibraltar, 

221 


222  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

and  we  pored  over  them  from  morning  till  the 
early  twilight,  when  there  was  a  ringing  of  bells 
and  a  smell  of  dinner,  and  an  air  of  liveliness 
among  the  little  company  on  board. 

I  joined  the  table  d'hote  and  found  it  very 
amusing.  The  captain  had  travelled  all  over  the 
world,  evidently  making  use  of  his  eyes  and  ears 
everywhere,  and  the  bridal  party  were  by  no 
means  uninteresting.  After  dinner  the  father-in- 
law  ordered  champagne,  and  the  officers  were 
invited  in  to  drink  the  health  of  the  bride.  She, 
poor  child,  was  a  little  overcome,  what  with  her  new 
honours,  sea-sickness,  and  the  prospect  of  exile 
at  Nemours;  but  all  the  rest  were  merry  enough, 
and  when  we  retired  to  our  cabin  we  heard  their 
talk  and  laughter  till  late  in  the  night.  There 
was  not  much  time  to  sleep,  for  about  3  a.m. 
we  were  told  to  dress  ourselves  in  readiness  for 
the  boat,  and  an  hour  later  we  went  on  deck.  It 
was  cold  and  fine.  The  sea  was  perfectly  calm, 
but  we  heard  it  breaking  on  the  shore  with  an 
angry,  threatening  sound,  and  we  saw  in  the  dim, 
grey  light,  a  rocky  coast,  a  formidable  barrier 
against  which  the  smoothest  waves  could  not 
break  silently.  Nemours  is,  indeed,  no  harbour, 
but  a  mere  roadstead,  and  only  approachable  in 
the  calmest  weather  and  by  small  boats.  A  hard 
pull  our  good  boatmen  had  of  it  ere  we  could 
reach  the  landing-place,  and  the  poor  bride 
shivered  in  her  thin  summer  dress. 


NEMOURS   (NOT   BALZAC'S)       223 

"  I  was  married  in  such  a  hurry,"  she  had  said 
to  me,  "  that  mamma  had  no  time  to  prepare  any- 
thing extra,  and  all  my  clothes  are  to  be  sent  after 
me ; "  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  good  warm  cloak 
for  the  sea-journey  would  not  have  required  much 
preparation.  However,  we  wrapped  her  up  in 
spare  rugs  and  greatcoats  and  she  took  no  harm. 

We  had  to  be  carried  ashore  one  at  a  time,  and 
I  thought  of  Gilliat,  and  of  the  seafaring  life 
Victor  Hugo  has  so  wondrously  portrayed. 
Savage-looking  men,  their  bare  limbs  shining  like 
bronze  in  the  pearly  light,  dashed  into  the  water, 
and  bore  us  to  the  strand  as  if  we  were  mere 
parcels. 

Much  as  we  had  enjoyed  Spain,  how  glad  we 
were  to  find  ourselves  in  France  again — especially 
in  African  France ! — speaking,  as  it  were,  our 
native  language,  and  not  haying  to  attempt  the 
stately  Spanish  phrase,  to  hear  friendly  French 
voices,  and  see  friendly  French  faces  around  us, 
to  know  that  wherever  we  went  we  were  truly 
welcome,  and  that  we  might  do  exactly  as  we 
liked  without  being  thought  extraordinary ! 

We  found  Nemours  just  like  any  other  little 
French  town  in  Algeria,  very  formal  and  neat, 
with  a  little  square,  a  little  church,  and  boulevards 
in  their  early  stage,  and  a  certain  indescribable 
air  of  order  and  importance  about  it.  We  went 
straight  to  the  inn — I  think  it  was  called  V Hotel 
des  Voyageurs—and  after  knocking  once  or  twice, 


224  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

the  landlord  came  down,  very  shaggy  and  sleepy, 
but  pleasant  and  amiable,  as  Frenchmen  are 
always.  He  went  out  at  once  to  his  neighbour, 
the  baker's,  and  came  back  with  a  panful  of  red- 
hot  ashes,  which  was  very  apt  of  him,  for  we  were 
bitterly  cold,  and  nothing  else  would  so  effectu- 
ally have  heated  the  room.  Then  he  brought  out 
a  bottle  of  good  Bordeaux  and  excellent  bread 
and  Roquefort  cheese;  and  by  the  time  we  had 
finished  our  meal,  there  was  a  clean  bedroom  and 
excellent  beds  ready  for  us,  and  hot  water  :  and 
what  more  do  weary  travellers  require?  The 
douane  did  not  choose  to  wake  up  and  give  us 
our  luggage  till  late  in  the  morning;  it  was  such 
a  lazy  custom-house,  and  though  I  went  again  and 
again,  and  said  pretty  things  to  the  gendarmes,  it 
was  of  no  use.  They  said  pretty  things  in  return, 
but  kept  our  luggage.  At  last  we  got  our  port- 
manteaus, and  were  able  to  get  at  dressing-cases 
and  clean  gowns,  and  to  sit  down  to  breakfast 
clothed  and  in  our  right  minds. 

Then  we  obtained  the  services  of  an  old  soldier 
as  guide,  and  went  out  to  see  something  of  the 
place.  The  weather  was  perfect,  and  our  cicerone 
just  the  person  to  make  you  feel  in  a  new  world. 
He  had  something  unexpected  to  tell  us  about 
everything;  the  people  of  Nemours,  the  past  of 
Nemours,  and  the  existing  aspect  of  French- 
African  colonization  collectively. 

A  bright  blue  sea,  glistening  white  sands,  and 


NEMOURS   (NOT  BALZAC'S)       225 

bold  dark  rocks  will  make  any  place  beautiful; 
but,  otherwise,  Nemours  is  uninteresting  enough. 
It  is  only  when  you  are  outside  the  town,  and 
breathing  the  air  of  the  wild  desolated  hills,  that 
you  understand  the  romance  of  the  place.  For 
its  history,  if  written  with  a  vigorous  pen,  would 
abound  in  incidents  thrilling  as  any  experienced — 
or  imagined — by  George  Borrow. 

We  passed  through  the  town,  and  were  just 
entering  upon  a  picturesque  gorge,  when  our 
guide  pointed  to  a  little  farm-house  that  peeped 
sunnily  from  its  orchards  and  gardens,  and  said— 

"  Do  you  see  a  great  patch  of  new  whitewash, 
just  above  the  door  yonder?" 

"  Yes,  we  see  it." 

"  Eh  blen  !  I  will  tell  you  the  history  of  that 
new  whitewash.  A  good  colonist  lived  in  the 
house,  and  was  murdered  a  few  weeks  back  by  the 
Arabs.  He  had  gone  to  bed  as  usual,  first  having 
seen  that  every  lock  was  secure,  and  that  his  pistol 
was  loaded — for  only  fools  go  unarmed  here  by 
night  or  day — and  at  midnight  awoke  suddenly, 
hearing  the  dogs  bark  and  the  cocks  crowing. 
'  The  Arabs ! '  he  says  to  his  wife,  who  wakes  up 
too,  and  then  he  takes  his  pistol  and  throws  open 
the  window,  ready  to  scare  the  scoundrels  away. 
But  before  he  can  do  it  he  is  shot  through  the 
head,  and  his  blood  and  brains  were  all  over  the 
wall,  so  it  had  to  be  whitewashed  as  you  see." 
Q 


226  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

"And  the  poor  widow,  and  the  guilty  Arabs?" 
we  asked. 

"  The  widow  lives  there  still.  The  poor  can't 
indulge  in  tremors  and  sentiment,  you  see, 
Madame,  and  must  stay  where  their  bread  is  to  be 
earned.  The  Arabs  got  away  to  Morocco — they 
can  do  it  in  a  few  hours  from  here — and  voila 
Vhlstoire!  " 

"  A  sad  history  indeed !  " 

"  And  not  the  saddest  I  could  tell  you.  Ah ! 
Madame,  the  life  of  us  poor  colonists  here  on  the 
borders  of  Morocco  is  hard  enough.  Only  the 
good  God  knows  how  hard  it  is." 

"On  account  of  the  great  insecurity,  you 
mean  ?  " 

'  Yes,  Madame.  We  have  to  keep  watch-dogs 
fierce  as  tigers,  to  look  well  to  our  bolts  and 
pistols  before  going  to  bed,  to  distrust  an  Arab 
as  le  (liable,  and,  withal,  we  are  always  being 
burned  out,  robbed,  assassinated;  and  those  who 
burn  us  out,  rob  us,  and  assassinate  us,  as  often 
as  not  get  across  to  Morocco  safe  and  sound." 

"  But  the  soldiers  protect  you  ?  " 

" Mon  Dieu,  Madame!  the  soldiers  have  hard 
work  to  protect  themselves  !  and  the  soldiers,  you 
see,  are  not  always  hand  and  glove  with  the 
colonists.  I  often  think  we  should  do  better  in 
Algeria  without  soldiers  at  all.  Being  a  colon 
myself,  I  speak  for  the  colons,  of  course." 

We  were  now  in  a  wild  and  beautiful  spot  at 


NEMOURS   (NOT   BALZAC'S)       227 

some  distance  from  the  town.  On  either  side  rose 
green  hills,  sharply  shutting  in  a  little  river  that 
flowed  amid  tamarisk  and  oleander,  and,  here  and 
there,  shone  the  round  white  dome  of  some  small 
Moorish  sanctuary. 

We  sat  down  to  rest  a  little  while  and  enjoy 
the  perfect  solitude  of  the  place,  whilst  my  com- 
panion sketched  the  nearest  of  the  mosques  or 
marabouts. 

"  Ah  !  that  marabout  yonder  will  never  be  for- 
gotten as  long  as  the  French  hold  Oran.  A  few 
years  ago  there  was  sharp  fighting  in  these  parts, 
and  the  Arabs,  who  were  very  strong,  contrived 
to  get  a  few  hundred  of  our  brave  fellows  here 
by  some  diabolical  cunning  or  other,  and,  being 
thousands  themselves,  mowed  them  down  like  so 
much  standing  corn.  But  this  is  only  one  story 
of  hundreds.  If  blood  of  the  bravest  would  make 
lands  rich,  we  ought  to  have  fine  crops  here 
indeed,  Madame." 

'*  The  Arabs  seem  a  very  savage  set,"  one 
of  us  said.  "Around  Algiers  they  are,  for  the 
most  part,  harmless." 

"II  y  a  des  Arabes  et  des  Arabes.  Voila, 
Madame.  We  are  close  on  Morocco.  The  Arabs 
who  have  burned,  murdered  and  stolen  in  other 
places  flee  hither,  and  so  we  are  in  a  sort  of 
Devil's  Island  of  'em." 

Just  as  he  spoke  a  wild  figure  came  running 
down  the  mountain  side,  and  made  towards  us, 

Q2 


228  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

gesticulating,  crying  aloud,  shaking  his  shaggy 
hair,  laughing  a  horrible  laugh.  So  brown  he  was, 
and  so  uncouth  an  object,  that  it  seemed  belying 
alike  Frenchman  and  Arab  to  class  him  as  either. 
Instinctively  we  started  and  drew  back. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  ladies,"  said  our  old 
soldier,  with  a  smile ;  "  it's  only  a  poor  madman 
— he  is  harmless  enough  if  not  teazed.  Bon  soir, 
bon  soir,  Pere  Michon,  fa  va  bien;  tu  vas  te 
fromener  f  Oest  fa.  Allans  !  "  And  the  poor 
creature  mouthed  and  laughed  and  went  his  way. 
This  was  the  only  person  we  met  in  that  solitary 
walk.  When  we  returned,  the  short,  bright  day 
was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  we  were  so  tired  that 
we  were  even  glad  to  lie  down  and  shut  out  the 
glorious  colours  spreading  in  fiery  flakes  across 
the  sky,  and  the  purple  sea,  that  seemed  another 
firmament  in  its  immovableness  and  depth,  and 
the  large  pale  stars  that  belonged  to  both. 

The  stars  were  not  pale  when  we  arose  next 
morning  at  three  o'clock  to  start  for  Tlemcen^; 
it  was  worth  one's  while  to  rise  so  early,  if  only 
to  see  them,  so  large  and  brilliant,  shining  out 
of  heavens  neither  blue,  nor  purple,  nor  black, 
but  indescribably  beautiful.  Never  shall  I  forget 
that  journey.  It  seemed  interminable.  First  of 
all,  we  had  the  long,  long  reign  of  stars — stars 
now  mildly  luminous,  moonlike  and  primrose- 
coloured,  heralding  the  dawn.  Then  we  had  the 
dawn — a  long,  grey,  cold  dawn — a  day  in  itself — 


NEMOURS   (NOT   BALZAC'S)         229 

and  then  the  blessed  sun,  warming  the  world  into 
perfect  ripeness,  as  if  it  were  a  flower,  and  then 
twilight  again,  with  new  stars. 

But  if  the  longest  day  of  our  lives,  it  was  by 
no  means  the  least  pleasant.  The  weather,  as 
usual  (for,  I  think,  in  point  of  weather,  travellers 
were  never  so  fortunate  as  ourselves  !)  was  all  that 
could  be  desired,  warm,  breezy  and  bracing,  and 
there  was  recreation  enough  in  the  region  through 
which  we  passed.  Every  feature  and  aspect  of 
the  country  was  new  to  us.  We  had  never  before 
seen  anything  like  these  undulating  wastes  of 
sand,  and  interminable  plateaux  of  stone  and 
grass,  all  bathed  in  the  mellowest,  warmest, 
goldenest  light.  The  light  was  one  long  surprise 
to  us.  We  looked  up  at  some  sheep  browsing 
on  a  rocky  ledge,  and  they  seemed  turned  into 
copperish  gold  images — not  the  mere  white  woolly 
tilings  we  know.  We  looked  from  a  bit  of  rising 
ground  across  a  broad  steppe  of  sand  and  stone, 
and  we  could  hardly  believe  that  the  sun  was  not 
setting,  so  yellow  it  was,  and  so  full  of  misty, 
delicious  warmth.  Everything  seemed  trans- 
figured, and  the  transfiguration  was  almost  blind- 
ing. We  were  alone  in  the  coupe  of  the  diligence, 
and  the  only  passenger  in  the  rotunda  was  a 
stately  Kaid,  magnificently  dressed  in  purple 
gaudoura  and  white  burnouse  of  softest,  silkiest 
Algerian  manufacture.  But  what  was  the  mag- 
nificence of  his  dress  to  the  magnificence  of  his 


230  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

complexion  ?  To  understand  what  an  Arab  com- 
plexion is,  one  must  have  seen  it,  as  we  saw  it 
that  day,  bronzing  and  glowing  under  a  southern 
sky.  Transported  to  canvas  or  cold  climates,  the 
rich  tint  loses  half  its  life,  warmth  and  beauty. 

When  we  alighted,  the  Kaid  invariably  alighted 
too,  and  would  smile  down  grandly  upon  us  as 
if  we  were  children,  and  say  a  complacent  word 
or  two  in  broken  French,  as  if  he  thought  we 
might  be  afraid  of  him.  We  were  sorry  enough 
that  we  could  not  chat  and  tell  him  how  far  we 
had  come  to  see  the  great  works  of  the  Moors 
in  Spain  and  Tlemcen.  Our  well-armed  driver 
was  as  picturesque  as  the  Kaid,  and  almost  as 
silent.  I  think  he  was  a  Breton  by  his  style  of 
face,  which  was  full  of  character  and  nobility,  and 
such  as  Rembrandt  would  have  painted.  He  wore 
a  fur  cap,  very  rich  in  colour,  and  a  light-blue  coat 
of  quaint  shape,  bordered  with  the  same  sort  of 
fur,  and  was  fully  armed.  Anything  finer  or  more 
poetic  than  this  man's  appearance  I  had  never 
seen.  But  beyond  the  courtesy  of  offering  us 
some  of  his  wine,  when  we  asked  for  water,  he 
hardly  opened  his  lips. 

For  the  most  part,  the  country  was  uncultivated 
and  uninhabited.  There  was  no  foliage  excepting 
that  of  stunted  olive,  tamarisk  and  palmetto,  and 
nothing  to  break  the  universal  monotony,  but  here 
and  there  a  douar,  or  Arab  village,  consisting  of 
a  cluster  of  tents  hedged  in  by  walls  of  wild 


NEMOURS   (NOT   BALZAC'S)        231 

cactus,  or  haulm.  Whenever  we  passed  close  to 
such  a  douar,  the  dogs  would  rush  out  yelling  and 
barking,  and  the  whole  little  brown-skinned  com- 
munity would  come  forward  and  stare  us  out  of 
sight.  The  younger  children  were  generally  stark 
naked,  though  such  a  brown  skin  seemed  a  sort 
of  clothing  in  itself,  and  the  elder  ones  had 
nothing  on  but  one  cutty  sark  of  coarse  sacking 
or  woollen  stuff.  The  men  and  women  were 
decently  clothed,  and  would  greet  us  with  a  grave 
"  Salamalek  !  "  or  "  Bon  jour  !  "  whilst  the 
youngsters,  veriest  imps  of  fun  and  impudence, 
ran  after  the  diligence,  begging  for  a  sou  as  long 
as  their  breath  would  carry  them. 

We  reached  Tlemcen  about  six  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  and  established  ourselves  at  the  Hotel 
de  France,  a  cool,  pleasant,  roomy  house,  where 
they  gave  us  large  rooms,  native  fare  and  gracious 
Algerian  courtesy. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

TLEMCEN,  THE  GRANADA  OF  THE 

EAST 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

TLEMCEN,  THE  GRANADA  OF  THE  EAST 

AT  Tlemcen,  we  found  ourselves  in  a  second 
and  hardly  less  beautiful  Granada — a  Granada, 
moreover,  peopled  with  those  who  had  made  it 
what  it  was,  a  Granada  not  wholly  dead,  but  teem- 
ing with  happy,  picturesque  Eastern  life.  The 
climate  is  delicious,  and  the  atmosphere  of  the 
place  so  sweet  and  gracious,  that  one  is  never 
ready  to  go  away.  We  made  up  our  minds  to  stay 
a  week  or  ten  days  in  this  Capua  of  Capuas, 
where  climate,  scenery,  and  surroundings  gave 
wings  to  the  hours.  We  never  knew  how  the  time 
went;  we  only  know  that,  like  Faust,  we  said  to 
the  hour,  "  Stay,  for  thou  art  fair,"  and  that  it 
escaped  us  like  a  vision. 

The  Arabs,  who  are  enthusiastic  about  things 
small  and  great,  have  described  Tlemcen  in  poetic 
and  figurative  language  recalling  the  Song  of 
Songs.  Listen,  for  instance,  to  Abd-el-Kader, 
who  made  Tlemcen  his  capital  after  the  treaty  of 
1837:  "At  sight  of  me,"  said  the  great  chief, 
"  Tlemcen  gave  me  her  hand  to  kiss.;  I  love  her 
as  the  child  loves  the  bosom  of  his  mother.  I 

235 


236  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

raised  the  veil  which  covered  her  face,  and  my 
heart  palpitated  with  joy;  her  cheeks  glowed  like 
flames.  Tlemcen  has  had  many  masters,  but  she 
has  showed  indifference  to  all,  turning  from  them 
with  drooping  eyelids;  only  upon  me  has  she 
smiled,  rendering  me  the  happiest  sultan  in  the 
world;  she  said  to  me,  'Give  me  a  kiss,  my 
beloved;  shut  my  lips  with  thy  lips  for  I  am 
thine/" 

Another  Arab  writer  thus  writes :  '  Tlemcen 
is  a  city  enjoying  a  pleasant  climate,  running 
waters,  and  a  fertile  soil.  Built  on  the  side  of 
a  mountain,  it  reminds  one  of  a  fair  young  bride 
reposing  in  beauty  on  her  couch.  The  bright 
foliage  which  overshadows  the  white  roofs  is  like 
a  green  coronal  circling  her  majestic  brow.  The 
surrounding  heights  and  the  plain  stretching 
below  the  town  are  made  verdant  by  running 
streams.  Tlemcen  is  a  city  that  fascinates  the 
mind  and  seduces  the  heart."  Thus  wrote  in  the 
fifteenth  century  Ibn  Khaldoun,  the  Arab  Pres- 
cott,  whose  work  no  one  has  completed;  and 
though  the  sun  of  Tlemcen  has  set,  the  place 
retains  its  magnetic  charm. 

It  was  under  a  bright,  brief  dynasty  that 
Tlemcen  virtually  became  the  Queen  of  Morocco. 
Possessed  of  a  large,  enlightened  and  wealthy 
population,  of  commercial  enterprise,  of  a  well- 
disciplined  army,  a  brilliant  court,  munificent  and 
cultivated  rulers,  Tlemcen  was  one  of  the  best 


TLEMCEN  237 


governed  and  most  polished  capitals  in  the  world, 
as  her  monuments  bear  witness. 

If  you  go  farther  back  into  history,  you  find 
Tlemcen  was  christened  "  Pomaria "  by  the 
Romans,  on  account  of  its  orchards  and  fruit- 
gardens,  but  the  Tlemcen  of  to-day  is  far  more 
interesting.  It  was  indeed  the  Moorish  Athens. 
The  modern  city  lies  at  the  foot  of  green  hills, 
its  minarets  standing  out  against  the  sky,  its 
terraced  houses  surrounded  by  belts  of  lustrous 
foliage,  whilst  beyond  stretches  a  plain  as  grandly 
covered  with  ruins  as  the  seven  hills  of  Toledo; 
only  unlike  the  hills  of  Toledo,  here  all  is  green, 
gay  and  sunny. 

The  life  of  the  streets  is  intoxicating  to  an 
artist.  At  every  corner  you  see  children  playing, 
brightly  dressed  as  little  Prince  Bedreddin  when 
he  went  with  his  slave  to  buy  tarts ;  the  boys  wear- 
ing blue  and  crimson  vests  embroidered  with 
yellow  braid,  scarlet  Fez  caps,  and  spotlessly 
white  trousers;  the  girls,  dainty,  dark-eyed  dar- 
lings in  soft  white  dresses  and  haiks,  their  waists 
bound  with  broad  silk  scarfs  of  many  colours,  and 
flowers  stuck  coquettishly  behind  their  little  ears. 
Never  were  such  children  as  those  of  Tlemcen, 
so  pretty,  so  frolicsome,  so  utterly  kittenish  and 
captivating.  You  cannot  help  stopping  to  play 
with  them;  one  would  like  to  adopt  half-a-dozen 
as  nephews  and  nieces.  The  Negro  and  Jewish 
children  are  also  very  pretty  here.  The  Jewesses 


288  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

brighten  the  streets  as  much  as  the  Mauresques. 
They  are  handsomer  here  than  in  Algiers,  and 
wear  outside  their  brocades  and  silks,  haiks  of 
soft,  bright  crimson  cloth,  which  envelop  them 
from  head  to  foot.  The  Arab  type  is  handsomer 
too,  I  should  say  much  purer  than  of  the  capital. 
There  was  a  boy  of  fifteen,  at  the  hotel,  whose  face 
I  shall  never  forget.  It  was  the  face  one  should 
copy  for  a  Christ  in  the  Temple;  perfectly  oval, 
the  features  refined  and  pensive;  the  eyes  soft, 
dark,  and  full  of  expression ;  the  mouth  sweet  and 
serious.  This  lad  acted  as  our  guide,  and  as 
soon  as  we  had  arranged  our  sketch-books  and 
shawls,  would  lose  himself  in  a  reverie.  His  face 
then  was  perfect. 

We  used  to  divide  our  days  between  the  Arab 
village  of  Sidi  Bou  Medin  and  the  mins  of 
Mansourah. 

The  way  to  Sidi  Bou  Medin  lies  amid  one  vast 
cemetery  called  the  Mokbara,  where  the  Tlem- 
cenians  have  been  buried  for  hundreds  of  years. 
Our  French  guide-book  had  this  remark  upon  the 
horrible  condition  of  this  cemetery,  "  Ici  s'amon- 
cellent  depuis  des  siecles  les  tombs  des  Tlem- 
ceniens;  le  temps  les  a  peu  respectes";  but 
is  it  time  alone  that  has  so  mishandled  the 
dead? 

There  was  hardly  a  spot  at  the  time  of  our  visit 
where  time,  or  the  road-maker,  had  not  laid  bare 
a  skeleton,  and  in  some  places  the  bones  lay 


TLEMCEN  239 


in  heaps.  Some  pretty  little  marabouts  lie  scat- 
tered about  these  acres  of  graveyard,  and  near 
one  we  saw  a  ragged  Bedouin  at  afternoon  prayer. 
The  kneeling  man,  the  white  temple  peeping  amid 
olive  trees,  the  long  lines  of  the  cemetery,  the 
yellow  evening  light  bathing  all,  made  a  touching 
picture.  The  dry  bones  preached  to  us.  We 
thought  of  the  Moors  driven  thither  from  Inquisi- 
torial Spain,  and  of  the  sad  hearts  they  brought 
into  exile. 

The  village  of  Sidi  Bou  Medin  covers  a  hill 
terrace-wise,  and  is  overtopped  by  a  graceful 
minaret.  It  has  a  gracious  and  sunny  aspect,  with 
its  hanging  gardens  of  myrtle,  and  orange,  and 
pomegranate,  its  running  streams,  vineyards, 
olive-groves,  shining  white  domes  and  minarets. 
Not  a  French  element  seemed  to  have  penetrated 
the  place ;  and  when  we  had  climbed  the  precipit- 
ous shady  path  and  entered  the  court  of  the  great 
mosque,  we  felt  as  far  from  France  as  if  Abd- 
el-Kader's  dream  of  a  new  Mohammedan  dynasty 
at  Tlemcen  were  realized,  and  the  Muezzin  was 
summoning,  not  Bedouins  and  beggars  only,  but 
turbaned  princes  and  rulers  to  prayer. 

Sidi  Bou  Medin,  after  whom  the  village  is 
called,  was  a  great  saint,  and  his  tomb  (koubba) 
is  considered  the  sight  to  see,  it  being  very  richly 
decorated  with  draperies  of  cloth  and  gold, 
ostriches'  eggs  set  in  silver,  chains  and  amulets  of 
gold  and  beads,  arabesques,  mirrors  in  mother-of- 


240  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

pearl  frames,  lustres  and  lamps.  To  enter  this 
koubba,  you  first  descend  into  a  little  court, 
around  which  runs  a  graceful  arcade  supported 
on  pillars  of  onyx;  the  panels  are  decorated  with 
inscriptions,  and  hung  with  cages  of  singing  birds, 
and  the  whole  place  is  wonderfully  rich  and 
fantastic 

The  Arabs  heap  up  wealth  on  the  shrines  of 
their  saints  with  a  zeal  unequalled  by  Romanists, 
however  fervent,  and  Bou  Medin  is  the  favourite 
here.  There  are  many  strange,  touching,  and 
also — for  even  saints  have  humour — quaint  stories 
about  him.  He  was  born  in  Spain,  and  was 
brought  up,  first  to  arms,  then  to  the  profession 
of  science;  but,  after  many  wanderings  to  Cor- 
dova, Bagdad,  Mecca  and  Constantine,  came  to 
Tlemcen — finding  it,  as  he  said,  "  a  place  in  which 
the  eternal  sleep  must  be  sweet " — where  he  died 
with  these  sublime  words  on  his  lips  :  "  God  alone 
is  the  Eternal  Truth." 

His  life,  as  are  all  the  lives  of  deified  Mohamme- 
dans, was  both  meditative  and  active,  miraculous 
and  ordinary,  and  abounds  in  legends.  He  could 
read  the  most  secret  thoughts  of  men,  in  testimony 
of  which  the  Arabs  tell  this  story :  "  A  certain 
sheikh  was  angry  with  his  wife,  and  wishing  to  be 
separated  from  her,  without  feeling  quite  sure  that 
he  had  reasonable  grounds  for  doing  so,  went  one 
day  without  saying  a  word  to  anybody  to  consult 
Sidi  Bou  Medin.  Hardly,  however,  had  he 


MOSQUE  OF  SIDI  BON  MEDINE 


{To  face  p.  241 


TLEMCEN  241 


entered  the  room  when  the  marabout,  looking  at 
him,  called  out  sharply — 

1  Fear  God,  and  don't  put  away  your  wife  ! ' 

"Of  course  the  sheikh  was  at  a  loss  to 
understand  how  the  saint  came  to  quote  the 
Koran  so  a  propos,  to  which  Sidi  Bou  Medin 
replied — 

'  When  you  came  in,  I  saw,  as  it  were,  the 
words  of  the  Koran  written  on  your  person,  and  I 
guessed  at  once  what  was  in  your  mind/ ' 

From  the  court  you  enter  the  koubba  itself. 
The  cenotaph,  which  is  of  richly  sculptured 
wood,  lies  under  a  dusky  dome  only  lighted 
by  small  panes  of  coloured  glass.  A  devoted 
disciple  and  friend  of  the  saint  lies  by  his 
side. 

But  it  is  the  beauty  of  the  mosque  that  those 
who  are  not  devotees  care  for  most.  Here  you 
see  azulejos  and  artesonados  (tiles  and  vaulting) 
as  original  in  design  and  as  perfect  in  finish  as  any 
at  Granada,  and  probably  of  the  same  period. 
The  tiles  of  the  three  primary  colours,  red,  yellow 
and  blue  within,  the  red  tiles  without,  the  sculp- 
tured porticoes  and  walls,  are  quite  of  the  same 
style,  and  in  no  degree  unequal  to  the  finest 
Moorish  work  we  had  seen  in  Spain.  Some  of 
those  gorgeous  inscriptions,  historical  and  religi- 
ous, such  as  cover  the  seat  of  the  Caliph  in  the 
mosque  of  Cordova,  remain  intact,  and  I  do  not 
remember  to  have  seen  any  defacement  or 


242  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

delapidation  anywhere.  The  building  is  a  perfect 
specimen  of  Moorish  art,  which  is  always  simple 
where  simplicity  has  its  use,  and  always  profuse 
of  ornament,  where  ornament  is  in  place.  Take, 
for  instance,  the  outer  court  wherein  the  Arabs 
perform  their  ablutions  before  prayer;  there  you 
have  a  marble  basin,  a  floor  of  faience  in  bright 
colours  all  shut  in  by  an  airy  arcade  and  open 
to  the  bright  blue  sky.  What  could  you  add 
that  would  not  spoil  the  purpose  of  a  purifying 
place  that  ought  to  be  unadorned?  But  within, 
where  the  devotee  has  the  right  to  worship,  having 
purified  himself,  flesh  and  spirit  by  the  out- 
ward and  visible  sign  as  well  as  the  inward  and 
spiritual  grace,  the  Mohammedan  makes  his 
temple  magnificent  for  the  one  God  and  His 
Prophet.  Neither  wealth  nor  workmanship  are 
spared,  and  the  result  is  what  we  see,  walls  covered 
with  ornamentation,  most  delicate  both  as  to  colour 
and  design,  pillars  of  jasper  and  onyx,  arcades  of 
lovely  fretwork,  the  priestly  seat  or  pulpit  of 
cedar-wood  richly  sculptured — lavishness  of 
labour  and  materials,,  perfection  of  form  and 
colour  everywhere. 

The  ruins  of  Mansourah,  once  the  rival  of 
Tlemcen,  lie  about  two  miles  from  the  town.  It 
is  now  six  centuries  and  a  half  since  this  city  was 
one  vast  congeries  of  palaces,  public  buildings, 
gardens,  baths,  hospitals  and  mosques.  Nothing 
remains  now  but  ruined  walls  and  the  minaret, 


THE  MINARET 


[To  face  p.  243. 


TLEMCEN  243 


though  these  alone  are  quite  sufficient  to  show 
what  once  was  Mansourah  and  what  was  once 
Spain. 

Photographs  may  help  you  a  little  to  imagine 
the  place,  but,  having  looked  at  them,  you  must 
shut  your  eyes  and  colour  the  minaret  and  the 
walls  with  richest,  reddest  ochre ;  you  must  clothe 
the  hills  in  living  green,  fill  the  space  between  hill 
and  sky  with  soft  warm  skies  of  southern  blue,  and 
then  set  the  whole  picture  floating  and  palpitating 
in  golden  mist. 

This  minaret  is  unlike  anything  else  in  the 
whole  world.  It  is  like  a  gigantic  monolith  of 
solid  Indian  gold,  and  is  quite  as  wonderful  as  the 
Pyramids.  When  you  come  closer  you  see  what 
a  ruin  it  is  now,  and  what  a  splendour  it  once  was ; 
it  has  been  cleft  in  two  like  a  pomegranate.  The 
construction  is  of  a  rich  reddish-coloured  tile,  and 
these  tiles  are  arranged  in  panels  sculptured  and 
coloured.  Some  of  the  colour  remains  wonder- 
fully bright  still,  but  the  whole  building  one  would 
think  could  hardly  stand  the  shock  of  an  earth- 
quake. 

Looking  inside,  you  see  the  traces  of  gradually 
inclined  stairs  by  which  mounted  horsemen  could 
ride  to  the  top,  and  by  dint  of  a  little  patience, 
you  are  able  to  master  the  original  ground  plan 
of  the  place.  The  exquisite  columns  of  jasper 
and  marble  have  been  removed  to  the  museums 
of  Tlemcen,  Algiers  and  Paris,  where  are  also  to 

R  2 


244  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

be  seen  many  beautiful  mosaics,  enamelled  tiles, 
shafts  and  pedestals  here  found. 

Whilst  sitting  at  the  foot  of  this  minaret  and 
looking  from  one  scene  of  ruin  to  another,  we 
picked  up  some  fragments  of  coloured  glass,  blue, 
green,  amber  and  red,  which  alone  sufficed  to  show 
how  splendid  the  mosque  must  have  been.  We 
looked  at  these  bits  brilliant  as  jewels,  from  them 
to  the  half-buried  portico  and  the  shattered 
minaret;  and  gradually  the  past  became  vivid 
as  a  dream,  the  dry  bones  were  covered  with 
flesh,  the  flesh  palpitated  with  happy  life,  and 
the  city  of  Mansourah  was  young  and  fair  and 
gay  again ! 

We  did  not  live  wholly  in  the  Granada  of  the 
East.  Warmly  welcomed  by  the  little  French 
colony,  here  at  that  time  mostly  Protestant,  we 
found  ourselves  discussing  various  questions  just 
then  agitating  writers  on  Algeria.  One  resident, 
a  Philo-Arabe,  as  advocates  of  assimilation  were 
then  styled,  castigated  the  French  system  and  was 
all  for  the  civic  equality  of  the  natives.  "The 
Arab,"  he  said,  "  would  assimilate  with  us  if  we 
would  only  let  him.  To-day,  for  instance,  I  met 
a  friend  of  mine,  an  Arab  who  lives  in  Tlemcen, 
and  I  told  him  that  I  would  bring  some  English 
travellers  to  see  his  pretty  Moorish  house.  He 
was  as  delighted  as  if  he  had  been  a  countryman 
of  yours.  '  I  will  prepare  a  diffa  (feast)/  he  said; 
v  there  shall  be  a  good  cous-cous-sou  with  which 


TLEMCEN  245 


to  regale  your  friends/  and  if  you  go,  you  will 
find  him,  in  every  sense,  a  gentleman — polished, 
kindly,  and  intelligent.  Our  boys  play  together. 
Do  you  suppose  those  young  Bedouins  will  not 
be  influenced  by  the  companionship?  If  I  were 
to  leave  Tlemcen  to-morrow,  there  are  some  Arabs 
I  should  part  from  as  from  my  brothers." 

"And  then,"  said  his  young  wife,  treating  the 
subject  from  a  romantic  point  of  view,  "there  is 
something  so  poetic  about  everything  they  do ! 
If  you  ask  a  simple  question,  they  answer  you  with 
parables  and  figures  of  speech.  It  is  like  read- 
ing the  Scriptures.  Oh,  ladies  !  my  husband  is 
right  in  advocating  the  cause  of  the  Arabs !  I 
think  they  could  teach  us  Christians  many  a  lesson 
of  piety  and  resignation.  If  a  parent  loses  his 
child  he  says,  '  It  is  the  will  of  Allah.  Allah's 
will  be  done  ! '  The  name  of  God  is  ever  in  their 
mouths,  and,  I  do  believe,  in  their  hearts." 

There  are  a  good  many  Jews  at  Tlemcen,  and 
it  was  pleasant  to  find  them — as  indeed  we  found 
them  all  over  Algeria — living  happily  among  their 
former  enemies.  The  French  conquest  has  cer- 
tainly done  a  great  deal  for  the  Jews,  who,  under 
the  Turkish  rule,  suffered  inexpressible  persecu- 
tions and  hardships.  They  throve,  and  throve 
deservedly,  and  at  the  time  of  our  visit  the  horrible 
Juden-Hetze  had  not  disgraced  Republican 
France.  At  Tlemcen  we  found  a  little  Protes- 
tant temple  or  church,  and  in  a  recent  number  of 


246  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

La  Revue  M.  Onesime  Reclus  tells  us  that  no  less 
than  twenty-one  Protestant  churches  with  pastors 
attached  now  exist  throughout  Algeria,  among 
these  little  centres  being  Blidah,  Cherchell,  Tizi- 
ouzou  and  other  places  mentioned  in  this  itinerary. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

ORAN— AND    "THE   BLITHEDALE 
ROMANCE  " 


CHAPTER    XIX 

ORAN — AND  "THE  BLITHEDALE  ROMANCE" 

SORRY  enough  were  we  to  leave  beautiful 
Tlemcen,  and  the  friendly  folks  who  had  made 
the  place  so  homelike  to  us;  but  at  the  end  of  a 
week  we  were  obliged  to  turn  our  faces  towards 
Oran. 

The  diligence  travelled,  of  course,  at  night,  both 
driver  and  conductor  being  well  armed,  and  we 
set  off  for  Oran  in  the  evening,  reaching  our 
destination  early  next  day;  not  our  destination 
only,  but  welcome  letters,  newspapers  and  books, 
luxuries  of  which  we  had;  been  long  deprived. 
Oran  is  a  second  and  more  bustling  Algiers,  only 
that  Algiers  is  far  more  picturesque  and  Eastern. 
In  Oran  you  are  wholly  in  France — African 
France,  that  is — with  a  burning  blue  sky  in 
December,  and  a  burning  blue  sea  reaching  to  the 
foot  of  the  town — if  it  were  only  cool  enough 
to  walk  so  far ! 

We  kept  indoors  almost  all  day  during  our 
sojourn,  resting  after  the  hard  travel  gone  before, 
and  in  anticipation  of  hard  travel  to  come.  But 
we  were  as  gay  as  possible ;  for  what  with  official 

249 


250  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

letters  of  introduction  and  letters  from  friends' 
friends,  we  had  visitors  all  day  long,  and  invita- 
tions for  every  evening.  Certainly  hospitality 
flourishes  on  Algerian  soil.  It  was  quite  delight- 
ful to  be  so  welcomed  and  so  regretted,  and  for 
years  after  I  could  not  think  of  Oran  without 
wishing  to  go  thither  again — if  life  were  long 
enough — just  to  shake  hands  and  exchange  an 
hour's  talk  with  the  kind  and  pleasant  people 
whose  acquaintance  I  made  there. 

Amongst  these  was  that  of  an  Algerian  author 
and  charming  personality,  M.  Leon  Beynet,  whose 
Drames  du  Desert  and  other  stories  of  French- 
African  life  give  an  admirable  idea  of  the  relative 
positions  of  native  and  colonist,  Arab  and  Frank 
at  that  time.  M.  Beynet  makes  the  heroine  of 
one  of  his  stories  a  beautiful  young  Kabyle  girl, 
who  is  certainly  the  most  charming  little  savage 
that  ever  got  into  print.  These  novels  are  quite 
a  feature  in  Algerian  literature,  and  make  you 
live  in  the  wild  scenes  and  society  they  portray. 

Oran  is  a  handsome  city.  The  houses  are  of 
enormous  height,  and  are  built  in  blocks,  so  that 
the  town  is  divided  into  many  sections.  From 
each  side  of  the  city  rise  green  hills  and  rocky 
heights,  crowned  by  round  white  towers  built  by 
the  Spaniards ;  and  below  lies  the  sea,  so  calm  and 
blue  during  those  December  days,  that  we  could 
hardly  credit  the  reports  of  the  bad  weather 
received  from  home.  We  had  some  pleasant 
walks  on  the  hills,  which  abound  in  wild  flowers, 


"THE   BLITHEDALE   ROMANCE'      251 

and  everything  else  dear  to  the  naturalist ;  but  we 
were  impatient  to  be  making  the  best  of  our  way 
to  Algiers,  and  did  not  stay  at  Oran  more  than 
a  few  days. 

Our  next  halting-place  was  Le  Sig,  where  we 
spent  Christmas  Day.  I  doubt  whether  Le  Sig 
would  be  found  on  any  map,  and  I  should  not 
mention  it  except  for  an  amusing  error  into  which 
we  had  been  led  respecting  its  claims  upon  our 
attention.  "Not  go  to  Le  Sig?"  certain  enthu- 
siasts had  said  to  us.  "  Not  go  to  Le  Sig? — the 
Phalansterian  colony,  the  little  settlement  of  Saint 
Simonians  and  Fourierists?  You  must  visit 
Le  Sig/' 

Now  it  happened  that  for  us  both  the  very  word 
Phalanstery  was  a  spell.  We  had  been  indoctrin- 
ated in  the  theories  of  those  glorious  optimists 
by  Dr.  Bodichon,  himself  a  warm  sympathiser 
with  many  of  their  views;  we  had  studied  Saint 
Simonian  literature,  of  which  the  Paroles  de  Pro- 
vidence of  Clarisse  Vigoureux  (Librarie  Phalan- 
sterienne),  Paris,  1847,  is  one  of  the  gems,  the 
works  of  Pierre  Leroux  and  others,  and  a  novel 
of  our  adoration  was  Hawthorne's  little  master- 
piece, The  Bllthedale  Romance.  Much  and  often 
we  had  discussed  the  Saint  Simonian  system  based 
on  that  new  and  inspiriting  message  to  the  world 

:<  The  Golden  Age  is  before  us  and  not  behind," 
and  now  we  revelled  in  the  notion  of  seeing  such 
theories  at  work,  a  little  centre  of  men  and  women 
in  which  the  words  labour  and  toil  had  a  quite 


252  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

fresh  and  better  meaning,  in  which  intellectual  and 
aesthetic  enjoyments  were  the  portion  of  all,  every 
member  in  his  own  person  sharing  alike  the  good 
things  and  the  labours  of  the  day,  individually 
elevating  the  commonest  tasks. 

"Had  the  doctor  and  myself  joined  a  Phalan- 
sterian  colony,  a  kind  of  Brook  Farm,"  my  com- 
panion said  to  me  on  the  way.  "  I  made  up  my 
mind  not  to  bake,  brew,  sew  or  scour,  but  to  act 
as  errand  woman  and  messenger.  I  should  ride 
to  market  or  to  the  town  to  do  commissions  and 
bring  home  commodities." 

The  thought  of  my  friend  galloping  across 
country  like  John  Gilpin  of  immortal  memory,  one 
saddle-bag  holding  a  quarter  of  mutton,  another 
a  flagon  of  wine,  was  diverting  enough. 

Then  we  talked  of  Brook  Farm  and  its  occu- 
pants, and  wondered  if  we  should  find  as  enter- 
taining a  company  at  Le  Sig. 

Injustice  shown  in  the  least  particular  Barbara 
Bodichon  could  never  forgive.  Of  Hawthorne's 
superb  heroine  she  had  before  said — 

"  No,  I  do  not  like  Zenobia  at  all.  She  was  so 
unkind  to  poor  little  Priscilla." 

Full  of  Hawthorne's  romance  and  revelling  in 
romantic  expectation  we  set  out.  Le  Sig  lay  on 
our  way ;  we  made  a  halt  there,  and  saw  what  was 
to  be  seen. 

Sig  Proper  is  a  prosperous  little  half-French, 
half-Spanish  town,  but  Le  Sig  of  the  Phalan- 
sterians  was  about  a  mile  off;  so  as  we  reached  the 


"THE   BLITHEDALE   ROMANCE''     253 

former  at  night  we  put  up  at  the  first,  and  found 
ourselves  tolerably  well  off.  The  people  were 
Spanish,  and  the  cooking  Spanish;  just  as  in  Oran 
we  were  constantly  coming  upon  little  clusters  of 
Spanish  families,  who  seemed  thriving  and  happy. 
Early  next  morning  we  got  a  youthful  Arab  to 
show  us  the  way  to  La  Colonie,  as  the  Phalanstery 
was  called,  and  after  a  hot  and  dusty  walk  reached 
a  rather  deserted  looking  homestead,  consisting 
of  farm-houses  and  buildings  surrounded  by 
orchards  and  vegetable  gardens.  This  was  the 
Phalanstery.  But,  alas  !  Where  was  the  spirit 
that  should  have  animated  the  place?  Where 
were  the  philosophical  grinders  of  corn,  and 
assiduous  cultivators  of  the  beautiful?  Where 
were  the  tribes  of  children  happier  at  their  work 
than  our  own  at  their  play  ?  Nothing  remained  of 
all  this.  Instead  of  devout  followers  of  Saint 
Simon,  Fourier  and  Enfantin  in  broad-brimmed 
white  hats,  we  only  found  ordinary  French 
labourers  working  after  the  ordinary  way.  The 
Phalanstery  had,  in  fact,  dwindled  down  till  only 
two  of  the  original  occupants  were  left,  and  these, 
Monsieur  and  Mme.  B — • — ,  were  a  simple,  old- 
fashioned  couple,  who  seemed  to  concern  them- 
selves mighty  little  with  Fourierism ;  they  let  out 
such  of  the  land  as  they  did  not  care  to  farm  them- 
selves, and  sent  their  only  child,  a  girl  of  twelve, 
to  a  convent  school.  It  seemed  impossible  to 
believe  that  only  a  few  years  before  this  almost 
deserted  spot  had  been  the  centre  of  a  fervid, 


254  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

determinate  little  community,  who  had  fled  thither 
from  the  storms  and  passions  of  the  world,  intend- 
ing to  lead  an  ideal  life. 

Monsieur  and  Mme.  B — - —  received  us  kindly, 
and  took  us  round  the  premises,  showing  us 
the  former  dwellings  of  the  Phalansterians,  neat 
little  wooden  houses  in  rows,  now  turned  into 
stables  and  granaries.  The  vegetable  garden 
seemed  very  flourishing,  and,  indeed,  so  did  the 
crops  of  every  kind.  We  tasted  the  home-grown 
and  home-made  wine — it  was  sour  enough  to  have 
driven  away  the  most  ardent  Fourierist  going. 

To  my  companion  and  myself  this  experience 
brought  equal  measure  of  alternating  melancholy 
and  exaltation.  Saint  Simon's  later  days  were  a 
protracted  tragedy;  Fourier's  experiment  proved 
disastrous,  and  he  died  poor  and  neglected; 
Enfantin  paid  for  his  propagandism  by  imprison- 
ment. The  theories  of  all  three,  put  into  practice, 
came  to  an  untimely  end. 

But  never  was  the  Parable  of  the  Sower  more 
vindicated  on  the  human  stage.  To  these  dis- 
interested and  lofty-minded  dreamers,  the  modern 
world  owes  the  conception  of  Christian  Socialism 
in  its  purest  form — noble  ideals  of  social  duty 
realizable  as  far  as  actual  conditions  permit. 
Co-operation  alike  for  spiritual,  intellectual  and 
material  ends,  free  libraries,  people's  stores, 
garden  suburbs,  Browning  Settlements,  University 
extension  lectures,  Brotherhoods,  institutional 
churches  and  chapels,  creches,  children's  happy 


"THE   BLITHEDALE   ROMANCE"     255 

evenings — these  are  a  few  instances  of  Saint 
Simonism  and  Fourierism  carried  out  so  success- 
fully among  ourselves,  and  the  number  of  them  is 
ever  increasing.  It  is  indeed  to  their  founders 
that  we  owe  the  use  of  that  grand  social  watch- 
word— solidarity — a  word  in  itself  summing  up 
the  Alpha  and  Omega  of  moral  and  social  duty. 

I  am  here  minded  to  cite  one  or  two  passages 
from  a  recent  work,  the  perusal  of  which  is  in  itself 
an  education.  In  the  Correspondence  of  John 
Stuart  Mill  (1910)  we  find  him  writing  thus  to 
his  Saint  Simonian  friend  D'Eichthal,  in  Novem- 
ber 1831  :  "  Your  system,  even  supposing  it  to  be 
impracticable,  differs  from  every  other  system 
which  has  ever  proposed  to  itself  an  unattainable 
end  in  this,  that  many,  indeed  almost  all  attain- 
able good  lie  on  the  road  to  it."  Further  on  he 
adds:  "If  the  Saint  Simonian  system  holds  to- 
gether without  schism  and  heresy  and  continues 
to  propagate  its  faith  and  to  extend  its  numbers 
at  the  rate  it  has  done  for  the  last  two  years — if 
this  shall  continue  for  a  few  years  more — then  I 
shall  see  something  like  a  gleam  of  light  through 
the  darkness." 

Sad,  yet  not  without  consolation,  indeed  would 
have  been  the  great  thinker's  reflections  at  Le  Sig  ! 

We  had  brought  other  letters  of  introduction, 
and  by  one  were  introduced  to  a  charming  young 
English  lady  who  had  spent  her  life  in  Africa,  and 
was  now  settled  down  in  this  spot.  Her  husband 
was  a  Frenchman,  and  held  an  official  post  of  some 


256  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

authority,  being  entrusted  with  the  supervision  of 
the  gigantic  barrages,  or  waterworks,  which  were 
turning  the  barren  plain  of  Le  Sig  into  gardens  of 
beauty  and  fruitfulness. 

When  Napoleon  III.  visited  Algiers  in  1865,  he 
asked  an  authority  on  Algerian  affairs  what  was 
most  needed  in  the  colony. 

"  Barrages,  sire,"  was  the  answer. 

"Et  apres  cela?" 

"  Encore  barrages,"  repeated  the  political 
economist;  and  the  Emperor  gave  heed  to  the 
words,  as  all  who  follow  in  our  track  from  Oran 
to  Algiers  will  see.  These  gigantic  and  noble 
works  are  well  worth  inspection,  especially  at  Le 
Sig ;  and  if  future  travellers  have  the  good  fortune 
that  fell  to  our  share,  they  will  come  away  with  a 
very  clear  idea  of  the  importance  and  working  of 
these  monster  systems  of  irrigation.  Monsieur 
O most  kindly  drove  us  to  the  barrages  him- 
self, and  told  us,  in  round  numbers,  the  annual 
cost  of  the  works  and  the  quantity  of  water  dis- 
persed; but  I  am  afraid  of  quoting  figures  from 
memory,  especially  when  they  come  to  millions, 
and  refer  the  curious  reader  to  statistical  reports. 

The  reservoirs  are  colossal.  You  drive  through 
a  pleasant  and  verdant  country,  part  cultivated, 
part  pasture,  and  then  come  to  the  entrance  of  a 
wild  gorge,  above  which  rises  the  colossal  mass 
of  masonry,  like  a  sentinel  guarding  the  vast 
tracts  beyond.  The  burning  African  sun  shone 
straight  down  upon  the  broad  surface  of  the  build- 


"THE   BLITHEDALE   ROMANCE"     257 


ing,  turning  the  hard  grey  of  the  granite  to  a  soft 
and  beautiful  orange  colour.  One  might  have 
thought  the  structure  a  thousand  years  old. 
Whilst  we  rested  here  a  grave  Arab,  with  three 
little  girls,  came  to  look  at  us.  The  children 
had  complexions  the  colour  of  ripe  chestnuts,  and 
were  wild  and  fearless  as  monkeys,  dancing  to  the 
very  edge  of  the  lofty  stone  platform  in  a  way 
that  made  us  giddy.  There  was  no  sort  of  coping, 
and  we  were  some  hundred  feet  above  the  river 
bed. 

Next  to  the  extraordinary  and  freakish  agility 
of  these  children,  I  was  struck  by  their  obedience. 
The  father  had  but  to  knit  his  brow,  lift  his  finger, 
or  cry  Ayesha,  Zorah,  or  Zaida,  and  these  wild 
creatures  obeyed  like  soldiers.  Yet  they  did  not 
seem  one  whit  afraid  of  him,  playing  hide-and- 
seek  behind  the  folds  of  his  burnouse,  caressing 
his  hands,  smiling  into  his  face. 

When  we  had  seen  enough  of  the  barrages,  and 
Mme.  Bodichon  had  made  her  sketch,  we  went 
back  to  the  town  and  spent  a  little  time  with 

Mme.  O and  her  half-French,  half-English 

children,  having  Anglo-Saxon  skins  and  hair, 
dark  brown  eyes,  and  speaking  a  pretty  language 
of  their  own,  mixed  English,  French  and  Arabic. 
The  house  was  very  large,  and  stood  amid  orange, 
oleander,  magnolia,  palm,  and  almond  trees : 
Arab  servants  in  handsome  dresses  were  lounging 
about  the  corridors,  and  the  whole  made  a  pretty 
picture  to  bring  away  from  so  remote  a  region. 


258  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

The  lady  looked  as  fresh  as  a  rose,  but  the  children 
were  a  little  fragile,  and  she  told  us  how  much 
they  had  suffered  from  malaria. 

'  The  fever  is  the  curse  of  the  place,"  she  said, 
"  and  every  one  falls  a  victim  to  it  in  turn.  A  few 
months  back  my  husband  was  brought  to  death's 
door  by  it,  and  the  poor  children  suffered  fright- 
fully. Ah !  what  should  we  do  but  for  that 
blessed,  blessed  quinine?" 

Wherever  we  went  we  heard  the  same  com- 
plaints. The  fever — the  fever — every  one  was 
ill,  or  had  been  ill,  or  was  falling  ill  of  the  fever. 
We  were  particularly  warned  from  exposing  our- 
selves to  the  smell  of  freshly  ploughed  soil.  The 
earth  seems  to  emit  a  sort  of  poison,  and  there  is 
no  remedy  for  the  evil — which  is  felt  by  thousands 
—save  quinine,  planting  and  drainage.  The  only 
wonder  is  that  before  the  introduction  of  the 
eucalyptus  colonization  had  prospered  in  these 
districts  at  all. 

From  Le  Sig  we  journeyed — always  by  dili- 
gence— to  Mascara,  a  town  possessing  romantic 
interest  as  the  birthplace  of  Abd-el-Kader. 

Mascara  is  charming.  Great  chalk  hills,  each 
crowned  with  its  little  mosque  or  marabout,  rise 
round  the  town,  and,  when  you  have  climbed  these 
hills,  you  come  upon  broad  belts  of  half-wild, 
half-cultivated  country  flanked  with  settlers'  huts 
or  Arab  tents.  The  colouring  of  the  place  is 
thoroughly  Eastern ;  you  get  here,  as  in  Andalusia, 
long  lines  of  wild  cactus  and  aloe  standing  out 


THE   BLITHEDALE   ROMANCE"     259 


against  a  burning  blue  sky,  and  those  indescrib- 
able effects  of  yellow  and  white  that  are  only  seen 
where  every  building  is  whitewashed  and  every  bit 
of  ground  is  bronzed  and  baked  by  a  blazing  sun. 

The  place  itself  is  quite  French,  and  herein  we 
were  a  little  disappointed,  as  we  had  been  led  to 
expect  a  second  Tlemcen,  bright  as  Joseph's 
many-coloured  coat  with  Moorish  costume.  The 
Arab  population  is  a  poor  one,  and  for  the  most 
part  is  settled  in  wretched  huts  built  of  cob  and 
rubble  outside  the  town.  We  went  inside  the 
mosque,  now  used  as  a  granary,  where  Abd-el- 
Kader  preached  war  against  the  Christians,  and 
found  it  very  beautiful,  but  in  sad  ruin.  There 
were  formerly  tiles  and  arabesques  on  the  walls, 
not  a  trace  of  which  remains.  Nothing,  indeed, 
is  left  but  the  finely  proportioned  domes  and 
aisles  and  the  ceiling  of  inlaid  cedar-wood. 

From  Mascara  we  made  an  excursion  to  Saida, 
where  we  smelt  the  real  air  of  the  Desert,  and 
saw  many  wonderful  things  that  must  be  described 
without  hurry.  Finding  that  the  diligence  to 
Saida  possessed  no  coupe,  we  engaged  the  whole 
vehicle  to  ourselves,  and  what  a  vehicle  it  was  ! 
The  glass  was  out  of  the  windows,  the  seats  were 
rickety,  the  floor  screeched  ominously  whenever 
we  got  in  or  out.  Never  was  such  a  crazy  old 
diligence  in  the  world,  and,  as  we  went  along,  it 
had  spasmodic  attacks  of  creaking  and  cracking 
without  rhyme  or  reason,  and  we  expected  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  a  total  collapse  in  some 
s  2 


260  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 


wild    spot    or    other — which,    however,    did    not 
happen. 

It  took  us  a  day  to  get  from  Mascara  to  Saida, 
but  not  a  long  day.  With  tolerable  roads  and 
horses,  the  j ourney  would  be  trifling.  As  it  was,  we 
were  shaken  up  and  down  in  a  way  that  blackened 
and  bruised  us,  and,  though  a  halt  of  five  minutes 
and  a  breath  of  the  sweet  air  of  the  desert  revives 
and  heals,  we  got  to  Saida  tired  enough.  What 
added  to  our  discomfort  was  a  high  wind  that 
accompanied  us  all  the  way,  first  making  us  shiver 
with  cold,  and  afterwards  burning  us  with  a 
sirocco-like  heat.  We  did  our  best  to  keep  out  the 
alternate  cold  and  heat,  but  it  was  difficult  work, 
as  all  the  windows  were  broken.  As  soon  as  one 
improvised  curtain  was  up,  another  was  sure  to  be 
down ;  and  at  last  we  solved  the  difficulty  by  cover- 
ing our  faces  instead.  I  think  the  journey  to 
Timbuctoo  before  mentioned  could  hardly  have 
been  wilder  or  more  solitary  than  this.  For  the 
most  part  we  passed  through  a  totally  uninhabited 
country — some  parts  all  stone  and  sand;  others 
overgrown  with  rosemary,  wild  asparagus,  fennel, 
candied  tuft,  thyme,  and  stunted  tuya  and  tama- 
risk trees.  When  the  dust  did  not  blow,  the  air 
was  very  sweet  and  invigorating,  and  sometimes 
the  sky  looked  grey  and  blowy,  and  we  could  get 
out  and  walk  a  little  in  comfort.  After  passing 
a  vast  and  beautiful  plain  we  halted  at  a  little 
village  or  post  to  breakfast  and  change  horses. 
It  was  a  curious  half-French,  half-Arab  settle- 


THE   BLITHEDALE   ROMANCE"     261 


ment;  and  from  the  Arab  douar  close  by  came 
lots  of  little  half-naked  children  to  look  at  us. 
When  we  had  breakfasted  we  went  towards  the 
tents,  and  my  friend,  as  she  sketched,  soon  had 
an  eager  group  round  us — a  stately  Bedouin,  his 
wives,  his  mother,  and  their  children.  Every  one 
wanted  to  be  useful,  to  hold  the  umbrella  or 
the  palette,  or  fetch  water;  and,  when  nothing 
remained  to  do,  they  watched  the  artist  with 
smiles  of  amazement  and  gratification.  The 
grandmother  was  a  delightful  old  lady.  She  was 
by  no  means  ugly,  as  most  old  Arab  women  are, 
but  had  a  charming  face  with  bright  eyes  and 
intelligent  features.  She  had  keen  observation, 
too,  as  I  saw,  for,  without  being  in  the  least  degree 
rude  and  troublesome,  she  looked  at  us  so  narrowly 
that  she  seemed  to  gather  what  we  said  to  each 
other.  I  should  like  to  have  adopted  that  old  lady 
as  my  grandmother  and  brought  her  to  England. 
Her  sympathy  with  the  sketcher  was  quite  beauti- 
ful, and,  when  the  children  giggled  and  tittered 
and  came  so  close  to  her  as  to  hinder  her  progress 
and  bring  forth  some  such  expression  as  this  : 
"  How  are  we  to  send  these  troublesome  little 
things  away?"  the  old  lady  understood  at  once 
and  commanded  them  to  be  still,  which  they  were; 
and  as  the  objects  of  the  landscape  were  brought 
out  one  by  one,  the  dark-brown  tents,  the  bright 
blue  sky,  the  wavy,  yellow  plain,  the  low  line  of 
purple  hills  beyond — the  artist  cried  aloud  in 
ecstasy. 


262  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

Whilst  we  were  -so  occupied,  a  little  urchin  of 
five  years,  utterly  naked,  ran  out  of  the  tent  close 
by  and  stood  still,  as  much  amused  with  us  as  we 
were  with  him.  All  laughed  aloud  but  the  father, 
who  looked  a  little  ashamed ;  perhaps  because  he 
had  been  to  Mascara  or  some  other  town,  and  knew 
that  nakedness  was  not  quite  the  thing  in  the 
great  world.  The  women  were  like  big  children, 
and  if  you  but  held  up  a  finger,  giggled,  showing 
their  white  teeth. 

When  we  had  done  we  shook  hands  all  round, 
and  returned  to  the  auberge  to  see  a  pitiful  sight. 
It  was  a  little  Arab  child  of  fourteen  months  old 
sick  of  the  fever ;  he  was  riding  on  the  shoulder  of 
his  grandfather,  a  patriarchal-looking  old  man 
with  silky  white  hair  and  beard.  I  don't  think  I 
>ever  saw  anything  more  touching  than  his  care  of 
the  little  suffering  thing.  Its  poor  face  was  livid, 
its  eyes  leaden,  its  limbs  shrunken.  What  could 
we  do  for  it  ? 

The  mistress  of  the  auberge  came  out  and  ques- 
tioned the  old  man  in  Arabic,  then  turned  to  us. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  said,  "  think  of  it — that  poor  baby 
has  neither  father  nor  mother,  no  one  to  tend  it 
but  that  old  man,  and  it  has  been  ill  of  fever  for 
months ;  but  then  we  all  suffer  alike  !  Three  of 
my  five  children  are  ill  now;  that  is,  ill  every  other 
day  with  shivering  fits  and  sickness,  and  there  is 
nothing  to  do  but  try  quinine.  But  quinine  is  very 
dear,  and  we  have  to  do  without  it." 
~~"  Do  the  Arabs  try  it?  "  I  asked. 


"THE   BLITHEDALE   ROMANCE"     263 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  expressively. 

"  Voyez-vom,  Madame,  the  Arabs  are  poorer 
than  we.  We  must  buy  bread  before  quinine." 

We  gave  the  poor  old  man  a  little  money,  and 
recollecting  that  I  had  brought  a  small  bottle  of 
quinine  from  England,  fearing  those  marsh  fevers 
myself,  I  got  it  out  of  my  travelling-bag,  and  gave 
it  to  the  woman.  She  promised  to  give  the  poor 
baby  slight  doses,  but  I  fear  he  was  past  all 
help,  and  I  looked  sadly  after  the  patriarch  as 
he  stalked  away  in  his  tattered  burnouse,  bearing 
his  poor  little  burden  on  his  shoulders. 

Since  these  experiences  plantations  of  the 
Eucalyptus  globulus  have  transformed  vast  areas 
throughout  Algeria,  rendering  once  miasmic 
districts  absolutely  healthful. 

Farther  on,  we  halted  to  see  some  hot  springs 
which  lie  within  a  few  leagues  of  Saida.  Follow- 
ing a  small  path  that  wound  through  labyrinthine 
thickets  of  tuya,  palmetto,  and  lentisk,  we  came 
suddenly  upon  a  scene  that  with  very  little  ideal- 
ization might  make  as  poetic  a  picture  as  one  could 
see. 

It  was  a  party  of  Arab  girls  bathing  in  a  small 
round  pool.  The  bathers  and  the  bathing-place 
were  shut  in  by  lustrous  green  foliage,  above  which 
showed  the  dark  lines  of  the  tents,  the  bright  blue 
hills  and  brighter  sky.  A  noontide  shadow  lay  on 
the  water,  in  which,  like  a  flock  of  young  ducks, 
plashed  and  played,  and  dived  and  ducked,  a 
dozen  wild  young  girls,  their  dark  hair  streaming 


264  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

to  the  waist,  their  faces  expressive  of  the  utmost 
enjoyment,  their  limbs  glistening  as  they  rose  out 
of  the  water. 

All  at  once  they  caught  sight  of  us.  There  was 
a  short  succession  of  screams,  a  unanimous  splash- 
ing, a  glimpse  of  bare  feet,  and  all  was  still  again. 
They  had  fled  the  spot  without  even  a  thought  of 
their  clothes ;  and  we  unfortunate  intruders  were 
only  harmless  women  after  all ! 

After  this  we  passed  a  tawny,  monotonous 
region,  all  stone  and  sand,  and  only  here  and  there 
varied  by  oases  of  cultivation.  These  little  oases, 
poor  patches  of  wheat  and  vegetables  growing 
amid  the  intractable  palmetto,  were  green  and 
radiant,  despite  the  rudeness  of  the  tillage;  but, 
alas !  the  locusts  had  found  them  out.  Both  on 
our  journey  to  Saida  and  back  we  saw  swarms  of 
these  creatures  settling  like  glittering  birds  on  the 
corn  or  filling  the  air  like  snowflakes.  My  heart 
sank  within  me  as  I  thought  of  the  poor  Arabs 
and  the  devastation  that  threatened  their  little  all. 

We  reached  Saida  in  good  time  that  afternoon. 


CHAPTER   XX 

SAIDA— ON   THE    THRESHOLD   OF 
THE   SAHARA 


CHAPTER  XX 

SAIDA ON  THE  THRESHOLD  OF  THE  SAHARA 

SOME  authorities  declare  Saida  to  be  an  oasis 
in  the  Little  Desert,  others  declare  it  to  be  an  oasis 
in  the  Great  Desert,  others  again  declare  it  to  be 
in  no  desert  at  all.  For  my  part,  I  wholly  side 
with  those  who  are  of  opinion  that  Saida  stands 
on  the  skirts  of  the  Sahara,  the  "Dry  Country 
abounding  in  Dates,"  as  the  old  maps  have  it; 
but  I  will  leave  the  matter  an  open  question  to  the 
curious,  merely  describing  Saida  as  I  found  it. 

We  had  a  comfortable  room  in  the  house  of 
our  driver — for  as  nobody  ever  went  to  Saida  at 
this  time  there  were  no  inns — whose  wife  was 
Spanish,  and  as  ill-favoured  and  dull  as  he  was 
handsome  and  bright.  He  seemed  devoted  to 
her,  so  that  it  didn't  much  matter.  They  carried 
on  almost  as  many  trades  as  there  are  weeks  in 
the  year,  and  were  evidently  making  money. 
They  catered  for  the  officers,  they  kept  the  dili- 
gence, they  owned  land,  they  had  geese  and  cattle, 
they  managed  the  post — it  would  be  hard  to  say 
what  they  did  not  do.  And  they  wore  good 
clothes,  lived  on  really  dainty  food,  and  were  of 
importance  in  the  place,  which  must  have  been 
some  consolation  under  such  exile. 

267 


268  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

Our  first  thought  was  to  inquire  for  horses  and 
side-saddles,  our  second  to  forward  our  vice- 
imperial  letters  to  the  Commandant.  The  first 
request  proved  fruitless.  There  being  no  ladies 
at  Saida,  how  should  there  be  ladies'  saddles? 
But  M.  le  Commandant  very  kindly  came  to  us 
at  once,  and  told  us  what  to  see  and  how  to  see 
it  in  this  oasis,  as  he  delighted  to  call  Saida.  He 
was  a  merry,  middle-aged  bachelor  from  Nor- 
mandy, who  had  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  Desert, 
and  bore  the  responsibilities  of  his  post — which 
were  heavy — with  great  complacency. 

"  The  life  here  seems  dull,"  he  said,  "  but  after 
long  marches  in  the  desert,  and  hard  fighting,  I 
assure  you  I  am  very  contented  to  remain.    There 
isn't  a  lady  in  the  place,  c'est  vraiment  triste,  fa, 
but  there  is  an  infinity  of  distractions  in  the  way 
of  work  and  pleasure.     You  see  I  represent  both 
civil  and  military  authority,  having  40,000  Arabs 
under  my  jurisdiction,  and  this  involves  all  sorts 
of  intricacies,  out  of  which  I  make  my  way  as 
best  I  can.    I  have  to  act  as  military  commander, 
prefet  and  mayor  all  in  one;  and  these  Arabs 
are  difficult  people  to  manage,  I  assure  you." 
'  They  are  miserably  poor,  I  hear,"  I  observed. 
"  Pauvres   diables.      You   may  well   say   that, 
Madame.    They  are  starving;  that's  just  the  truth 
of  it;  and  what  with  those  who  steal  and  murder 
because  they  are  hungry,  and  those  who  steal  and 
murder  because  they  like  it,  the  road  from  hence 


THRESHOLD   OF   THE   SAHARA    269 

to  Fig-gig — our  last  post  in  the  Desert — is  unsafe 
enough.  Without  a  military  escort  it  is  impos- 
sible." 

"We  were  told  at  Oran,"  I  said,  "that  there 
were  some  grand  waterfalls  we  could  see  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Saida.  Is  the  excursion  prac- 
ticable?" 

M.  le  Commandant  opened  his  eyes  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders  expressively. 

"  Madame,  no  one  knows  in  Oran  what  is  going 
on  at  Saida.  That  excursion  is  impossible,  I 
repeat,  quite  impracticable.  You  propose  to 
remain  two  days?  Good.  To-morrow  I  will  send 
a  military  escort  with  you  as  far  as  the  marabout  of 
Sidi-ben-Baila,  from  whence  you  can  look  over  the 
plateaux  lying  between  that  point  and  the  Desert ; 
if  you  went  on  as  far  as  Geryville,  our  next  post, 
and  Fig-gig,  our  last,1  you  would  see  no  more. 
The  day  after  Madame  Bodichon  would  like  to 
sketch  probably?  Blen,  I  will  send  my  servant 
and  Spahis  with  you  to  the  ravine  near,  and  the 
lady  will  find  fine  things  to  draw;  and  when  my 
work  is  done,  I  will  ride  round  and  show  you  what 
else  is  to  be  seen  in  our  little  Saida;"  and,  after 
telling  us  a  great  deal  more  that  was  interesting, 
the  good-natured  Commandant  left  us. 

We  carried  out  these  plans,  and  all  turned  out 
satisfactorily.  There  was  only  one  sort  of  vehicle 
to  be  had,  a  sort  of  wheelbarrow  on  four  wheels, 
1  Compare  this  statement  with  Captain  Haywood's  book. 


270  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 


belonging  to  a  butcher,  which  we  gladly  accepted 
for  the  drive  to  the  marabout.  Our  driver,  the 
owner  of  the  cart,  proved  a  most  entertaining 
person.  He  was  a  Parisian  by  birth,  an  African 
by  right  of  long  residence,  and  as  rich  in  mother- 
wit  as  a  Gascon.  The  well-mounted  Spahis 
followed. 

4  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  think  of 
leaving  Saida  without  going  to  see  the  water- 
falls ?  "  he  asked ;  "  why,  that  is  the  only  thing 
that  is  really  beautiful  in  the  place." 

We  said  that  we  had  been  dissuaded  from  the 
excursion  on  account  of  the  unsafely  of  the  roads ; 
and  thereupon  the  incredulity  of  the  butcher's 
face  was  a  sight  to  see. 

"  Mon  Dieu,  Mesdames,  you  mustn't  listen  to 
what  the  military  authorities  say — they  always 
make  mountains  of  molehills.  I  would  under- 
take to  carry  you  safe  to  Fig-gig  in  this  trap 
without  as  much  as  a  pistol  in  my  belt. 
Voila  !  " 

"  But  you  don't  attempt  to  convince  us  that  the 
roads  are  safe,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Mesdames,  they  are  safe  for  you  or  for  me ; 
but  I  wouldn't  say  as  much  for  myself  if  I  were 
an  officer.  This  is  how  it  is  :  the  Arabs  hate  the 
military,  and  do  them  an  ill  turn  when  they,  can; 
but  the  Arabs,  ma  foi,  are  not  the  bad  set  of 
people  one  would  have  you  believe.  Why,  I  have 
travelled  to  Geryville  and  back,  and  to  Fig-gig 


THRESHOLD  OF  THE  SAHARA  271 

and  back  alone  before  now,  with  money  in  my 
purse  too,  and  the  Arabs  treated  me  as  if  I  had 
been  a  brother,  made  me  a  dish  of  cous-cous, 
gave  me  a  bed  under  their  tents,  saddled  my 
horse  for  me  at  parting,  and  bade  me  God-speed. 
Having  been  thus  treated,  how  else  can  I  speak 
of  them?  Pardie,  I  don't  see  a  pin  to  choose 
between  a  good  Christian  and  a  good  Moham- 
medan, or  bad  Christian  and  a  bad  Moham- 
medan :  voila  ce  que  nous  pensons" 

We  let  our  butcher  have  his  way,  for  his  talk 
was  too  racy  and  fresh  to  be  spared  in  a  world 
where  one  has  to  endure  so  much  commonplace. 
I  should  fill  a  chapter  if  I  were  to  repeat  half  the 
stirring  stories  and  original  opinions  he  gave  us; 
but  as  this  book  is  intended  as  a  stimulant  to 
others  longing  for  the  palms  and  temples  of  the 
South,  I  hope  it  may  lead  some  to  Saida  and 
equally  amusing  acquaintances. 

All  this  time  we  were  driving  through  what 
seemed  to  be  a  stony  desert,  flooded  with  an 
indescribably  mellow,  monotonous  light,  above 
all,  having  a  pale-blue  sky.  By  and  by,  we  came 
to  a  rocky  height  where  we  halted  to  take  in  every 
feature  and  aspect  of  a  wondrous  scene.  Below 
lay  a  billowy  waste  of  plain  upon  plain — expanses 
of  silver  and  gold — tall  alpha  grass  and  yellow 
corn  alternating,  those  nearest  to  us  broken  by 
Arab  tents,  or  the  shining  dome  of  a  marabout; 
those  farthest  off  more  solitary,  vaster,  grander 


272  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

than  the  surface  of  an  ocean  without  a  sail. 
Where  the  plains  ended  and  the  sky  began  was 
a  straight,  continuous  line;  and  we  looked  at  this 
line,  so  suggestive  of  distance,  mystery  and  the 
unknown,  till  we  longed  to  accept  the  butcher's 
offer,  and,  coute  que  coute,  set  off  for  Fig-gig 
and  the  "  Dry  Country  abounding  in  Dates  !  "  It 
was  here  a  case  of— 

"Yon  mountain  looks  on  Marathon, 
And  Marathon  looks  on  the  sea." 

But  that  sea  we  could  not  hope  to  reach. 

What  fascinated  us  more  than  anything  was  the 
wonderful  briskness,  purity  and  sweetness  of  the 
air.  It  seemed  as  if  we  never  could  have  breathed 
real  air  before,  and  the  experience  was  too  deli- 
cious to  describe.  Softer  and  sweeter  than  the 
breath  blown  off  Cornish  moors  when  the  heather 
is  out,  fresher  and  more  invigorating  than  the  sea 
breezes  one  gets  on  Lowestoft  pier  on  a  bright 
September  day,  a  whiff  of  this  air  of  the  desert 
amply  repays  any  hardships  undertaken  to  obtain. 
We  felt  as  if  we  could  never  come  away,  as  if  we 
could  never  drink  deeply  enough  of  such  reviving, 
rejuvenating  ether.  The  Commandant's  high 
spirits  and  talk,  the  butcher's  vivacity,  the  general 
look  of  briskness,  physical  and  mental,  character- 
izing the  people  of  Saida,  were  accounted  for. 
The  sweet  air  of  the  Desert  did  it  all. 

About  half  a  mile  from  our  point  of  view  stood 


THRESHOLD    OF   THE   SAHARA     273 


the  little  marabout  which  was  to  be  to-day's 
bourne,  and  around  it  we  could  see  wreaths  of 
white  smoke  curling  from  the  dark-brown  tents, 
and  horses  and  cattle  feeding.  Near  to  us  were 
one  or  two  wild-looking  Bedouins  keeping  their 
sheep,  marvellously  transformed  in  the  yellow 
light,  their  fleeces  looking  like  bosses  of  brightest 
orange  colour.  Whilst  resting  thus,  a  serried  line 
of  wild  geese  slowly  flew  towards  us,  keeping 
strict  order  till  out  of  sight. 

"  Now  we  shall  have  rain,"  said  our  driver. 
:c  We  want  no  weather-glasses  at  Saida,  I  assure 
you." 

W7hat  inventions  of  man  does  one  want  indeed 
at  such  a  place  ?  Place  any  one  gifted  with  quick 
mental  capacity  out  of  the  world,  that  is  to  say, 
out  of  the  conventional,  comfortable  world  of 
shops,  railways  and  penny  newspapers,  and  how 
readily  does  he  shift  for  himself  !  This  butcher 
of  Saida  had  as  many  interests  in  life  as  home- 
folk  in  these  days  of  social,  literary  and  political 
excitement;  he  was  always  solving  some  knotty 
point  in  Algerian  political  economy,  or  speculat- 
ing how  this  or  that  natural  feature  of  the  country 
could  be  turned  to  account.  He  knew  the  geo- 
graphy, geology  and  mineralogy  of  every  rood; 
he  could  tell  us  what  birds  lived  in  the  air,  what 
beasts  haunted  the  wastes,  what  plants  grew  in  the 
oases,  and  how  the  Arabs  lived  hereabouts.  It 
was  curious  to  find  how  much  more  he  respected 


274  IN   FRENCH- AFRICA 

the  Bedouin  than  the  Spahis,  and  how  lightly  he 
esteemed  the  influence  of  the  French  upon  the 
people  they  had  conquered. 

"Where  are  our  Spahis?"  I  asked,  for  we  had 
never  seen  our  escort  since  starting. 

He  smiled  and  pointed  to  a  cluster  of  Arab 
douars  at  some  distance. 

"  You  can't  see  a  little  red  speck  among  those 
tents,  I  dare  say,  ladies;  but  my  eyes  are  used  to 
looking  a  good  way  off,  and  I  can.  It  is  one  of 
your  precious  Spahis,  and  he's  just  thinking  as 
much  of  you  as  I  am  of  his  wives  out  there  whom 
he  has  gone  to  see.  I  know  'em,  those  Spahis; 
they  like  nothing  better  than  to  be  sent  as  an 
escort  with  travellers,  for  that  means  that  they 
can  pay  a  visit  to  their  women,  who  begin  to  cook 
cous-cous  as  soon  as  ever  they  see  a  red  cloak 
in  the  distance.  When  your  Spahis  have  eaten 
up  everything  that  comes  in  their  way  and  seen 
enough  of  their  good  ladies,  they'll  come 
home." 

And  true  enough,  just  as  we  were  approaching 
Saida,  our  escort  came  galloping  up,  two  wild, 
fine-looking  men,  their  scarlet  burnouses  flung 
over  their  shoulders,  their  dark,  handsome  faces 
wrapped  in  white  linen  trimmed  with  camel's-hair, 
their  brown,  muscular  arms  bare  to  the  elbow,  their 
legs  thrust  in  moccasins  of  crimson  leather  richly 
embroidered.  They  rode  pretty  little  barbs,  and 
sat  upon  their  high-backed  saddles  with  quite  a 


THRESHOLD   OF   THE   SAHARA    275 

royal  air.     Nothing  could  be  more  brilliant  or 
picturesque. 

Saida,  that  is  to  say,  the  Saida  of  France — for 
the  present  settlement  is  entirely  French — was 
heroically  defended  by  Abd-el-Kader,  and,  as 
we  drove  home,  we  saw  the  ruined  walls  of  the 
old  town  and  the  deserted  camp  of  the  French 
soldiery.  Throughout  the  entire  province  of 
Oran,  indeed,  we  were  reminded  of  the  great  chief 
whose  career  has  a  wild,  sad  Saracenic  romance 
about  it  out  of  harmony  with  the  humdrum  of 
actualities.  We  saw  no  more  of  our  driver  after 
that  day.  The  superb  air  and  savage  plenty 
of  such  places  as  Saida  seem  to  make  people 
magnanimous,  for  he  went  off  to  Geryville  next 
morning,  never  concerning  himself  about  being 
paid  for  his  services;  and  we  were  constantly 
receiving  little  presents  from  some  one  or  other 
during  our  stay — ostriches'  eggs,  beautifully 
polished  stones,  wild-bears'  horns  and  so  on. 

Jackals,  hyenas,  wild  boars  abound  in  these 
rocky  wildernesses;  there  are  also  panthers  and 
gazelles,  though  they  are  rarer.  If  it  were  not 
for  the  hunt  and  the  chase,  what  would  become 
of  the  officers  in  exile? 

Next  day  M.  le  Commandant  showed  us  his 
pretty  garden,  planted  with  apple  trees  by  way 
of  recalling  his  native  Normandy,  and  promising 
to  be  very  beautiful  by  and  by,  when  the  rich 
tropical  flowers  should  be  out.  Then  he  went 

T2 


276  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 


with  us  to  a  very  savage  and  splendid  gorge  called 
La  Source.  Here,  issuing  from  a  tiny  aperture 
in  the  rock,  a  stream  of  clear,  rapid  water  had 
cleft  its  way  through  the  rich  red  heart  of  the 
mountain,  and  tossed  and  tumbled  amid  oleanders 
and  tamarisks  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  The 
rocks,  piled  in  lofty  masses  on  either  side,  made 
natural  ramparts  to  the  little  town  of  Saida  which 
lay  a  mile  off,  and  were  the  lairs  of  wild  beasts 
and  Arab  thieves. 

"  I  have  placed  sentinels  here  for  several  nights 
of  late,"  said  M.  le  Commandant,  "for  the  Arabs 
are  like  the  jackals,  and  steal  down  to  scavenge 
where  they  can.  My  Spahis  will  come  as  soon 
as  it  is  dusk,  and  this  precaution  I  must  take  till 
the  thief,  or  thieves,  are  caught." 

"And  what  will  be  done  to  them?" 

"  Oest  ires  simple''  replied  M.  le  Commandant 
coolly.  >f  Whoever  comes  down  that  pass  at  night 
gets  a  bullet  through  his  head,  that's  all."  As 
we  looked  shocked,  he  added,  "  Que  voulez- 
vous  ?  II  faut  vous  dire  les  choses  comme  elles 
sont" 

It  seemed  that  the  harvests  had  been  very  bad 
of  late,  and  that  the  Arabs  were  driven  to  all  sorts 
of  desperation  by  hunger.  Was  there  work  for 
those  who  chose  to  do  it,  we  asked  of  the  Com- 
mandant ? 

"  In  plenty,  I  assure  you — in  great  plenty,  but 
the  Arabs  don't  like  work,  and  will  rather  starve. 


THRESHOLD    OF   THE   SAHARA     277 


Give  a  Kabyle  a  field  to  plough  or  a  house  to 
build,  and  he'll  do  it  as  well  as  a  Frenchman, 
whilst  an  Arab  or  Bedouin  is  only  good  for  fight- 
ing and  plunder." 

'That  is  your  opinion?" 
'  That  is  my  experience,  Madame." 
Thanks  to  the  kindness  of  the  Commandant, 
we  came  away  from  Saida  with  a  pretty  compre- 
hensive idea  of  the  perplexities  and  responsibili- 
ties of  his  high  post,  and  of  the  working  of  the 
military  system  of  government  in  Algeria. 

Next  day,  the  last  day  of  the  year,  we  returned 
to  Mascara,  and  had,  if  anything,  a  more  trying 
journey  than  before;  the  wind  was  colder,  the  sun 
was  hotter,  the  clouds  dustier,  and  every  one 
prophesied  rain. 

We  spent  New  Year's  day  with  some  kind 
friends  from  Algiers,  an  army  surgeon  and  his 
wife.  What  a  sumptuous  breakfast  we  had !  I 
do  not  mean  sumptuous  in  the  matter  of  dishes 
only,  but  in  the  matter  of  conversation,  which  was 
as  piquant  and  full  of  flavour  as  the  fare.  Mon- 
sieur and  Mme.  D—  were  of  those  happy 
mortals  who  are  gifted  with  perpetual  youth, 
coupled  with  a  habit  of  quick  and  just  observation. 
An  hour's  talk  with  them  was  like  reading  a  witty 
and  wise  novel.  Throughout  the  shifting  scenes 
of  their  African  life,  they  had  naturally  fallen  in 
with  all  sorts  of  characters  and  conditions,  and 
they  gave  us  a  lively  picture  of  French  society 


278  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

in  Oran,  touching  on  the  follies,  errors  and  good 
things  of  it  with  kindly  satire. 

u  I  will  take  you  to  see  Madame  la  Generale," 
said  our  hostess,  "  for  I  [don't  suppose  in  any  of 
your  travels  you  have  been  introduced  to  a 
Moorish  lady  married  to  a  French  commanding 
officer.  Our  General's  wife  is  one;  and  though 
she  does  not  speak  French  quite  easily,  you  will 
find  her  in  dress  and  manner  quite  a  Parisian. 
They  have  four  children,  such  little  dark,  hand- 
some, wild  things,  and  there  is  not  one  of  them  so 
fond  of  sweets  as  mamma !  Moorish  ladies 
almost  live  on  sugar." 

Mme.  la  Generale  had  a  cold,  however,  and 
could  see  no  one,  so  we  had  to  leave  Mascara 
without  personally  seeing  a  Moorish  lady  turned 
Parisian. 

So  warmly  were  we  received  by  Monsieur  and 

Mme.    D on    New    Year's    Day    that    we 

hardly  realized  we  could  be  so  far  from  home 
and  in  a  spot  so  remote  as  Mascara!  French 
hospitality  is  as  genuine  and  gracious  as  any  in 
the  world ;  and  we  were  quite  touched  by  the  way 
in  which  people  thought  of  us  and  for  us  wherever 
we  went. 

To  give  one  instance  out  of  many.  On  the 
eve  of  our  departure  I  was  disturbed  in  my  pack- 
ing by  a  gentle  rap  at  the  door,  and  on  opening 

it  saw   Monsieur   D ,   followed   by  an  Arab 

servant  bearing  a  small  basket  heavily  laden. 


THRESHOLD   OF   THE   SAHARA     279 

"Ah,  Mademoiselle !  "  he  said,  "  I  disturb  you 
—but  only  for  a  little  moment,  and  then  I  will 
wish  you  bon  voyage  and  go.  When  you  and 
Madame  had  left  us  to-day,  we  remembered  that 
you  praised  my  wife's  preserved  peaches  and 
apricots,  and  we  thought  you  might  like  some  to 
eat  on  the  way." 

Then  he  helped  his  lad  to  unload  the  basket, 
which  contained  several  tin  cases  of  fruit  her- 
metically sealed.  We  thanked  him,  said  it  was 
too  bad  of  us  to  rob  Madame  when  she  had  been 
at  the  trouble  of  preserving  the  fruit  herself,  that 
we  should  take  the  cases  to  England,  and  that 
we  should  never  forget  the  kind  reception  we  had 
met  at  Mascara. 

"And  we  shall  not  forget,"  he  said,  with  a 
hearty  shake  of  the  hand,  "  what  pretty  things  you, 
Mademoiselle,  have  already  said  in  print  about 
French  ladies.  Adieu,  au  revoir,  Mesdames,  if 
not  in  Africa,  in  Paris;  if  not  in  Paris,  in  Eng- 
land !  "  and  then  he  went.  Alas !  not  to  meet 
us  again. 

We  were  to  rise  very  early  next  morning,  but 
though  we  retired  at  eight  o'clock,  sleep  was  out 
of  the  question.  New  Year's  Day  only  happens 
once  a  year,  and  the  good  people  of  Mascara 
seemed  determined  to  make  the  best  of  it.  I 
never  heard  anything  like  the  noisiness  of  that 
little  town  keeping  holiday.  Drums  beat,  bands 
played,  trumpets  sounded,  all  mixed  with  the 


280  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

sounds  of  singing  and  laughter  that  continued  till 
long  past  midnight;  and  just  as  things  were  grow- 
ing quiet  and  we  were  getting  drowsy,  came  a 
tremendous  rat-tat-tat  at  the  door  and  the  noise 
of  Arab  porters — domestics  and  chambermaids  of 
course  there  were  none — shouting  at  the  top  of 
their  voices,  "  La  diligence  !  La  diligence  !  " 


CHAPTER   XXI 
THE   EARTHQUAKE 


CHAPTER    XXI 

THE    EARTHQUAKE 

Now  came  the  thrice  blessed  rain.  We  had 
heard  it  pattering  and  plashing  between  our  dozes, 
and  when  we  came  out  into  the  open  air  it  was 
moist  and  sweet  and  cool.  For  the  first  time 
throughout  our  entire  journey  we  were  unable  to 
procure  the  coupe  to  ourselves,  the  assizes  com- 
mencing at  Mostaganem  next  day,  and,  what  with 
witnesses,  avocats,  lawyers,  plaintiffs  and  defend- 
ants, the  diligence  was  more  than  crowded.  It 
was  no  case  that  day  like  that  of  the  post  chaise 
conveying  four  "insides"  to  Headlong  Hall, 
"whose  extreme  thinness  enabled  them  to  travel 
thus  economically  without  experiencing  the  slight- 
est inconvenience."  Instead  of  a  Mr.  Gall,  a  Mr. 
Treacle  and  their  equally  attenuated  companions, 
we  had  one  whose  single  rotundity  made  up  for 
Love  Peacock's  quartette.  We  could  not  see  our 
companion,  but,  from  the  large  share  of  the  coupe 
that  he  monopolized,  we  thought  he  must  be  a 
very  stout  person  indeed.  How  we  had  hoped 
and  prayed  that  he  might  prove  thin  !  But  there 
was  no  help  for  it,  and  by  the  time  we  began 
to  be  cramped  in  every  limb  came  the  blessed, 

283 


284  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

beautifying  daylight  and  the  ever-shifting 
African  landscape,  making  us  forget  everything 
else. 

We  forgave  our  fellow-traveller's  excessive 
burliness  after  a  while,  for  he  proved  very 
pleasant  and  full  of  information.  He  was  a 
barrister,  and  told  us  of  the  most  important  cases 
coming  off  at  Mostaganem,  and  a  long  list  it  was. 
By  far  the  greater  number  of  prisoners  were 
Arabs,  charged  with  assassinations.  We  told  this 
gentleman  of  what  we  had  heard  at  Tlemcen. 

"  In  one  place,"  we  said,  "  the  Arabs  are  repre- 
sented as  harmless,  improvable,  mild ;  in  another, 
as  the  incarnation  of  villainy.  What  are  we  to 
believe?" 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  the  fact  is  this  :  many  of  the 
Arabs  are  pauvres  diables — that  is  to  say,  the 
Bedouin,  the  shepherd  and  the  cultivator  of  a 
little  land— and  the  consequence  is  in  bad  times 
they  are  led  from  theft  to  murder.  When  we  stop 
to  change  every  one  will  alight  to  take  coffee,  and 
you  will  see  a  couple  of  priests,  one  looking  as  if 
he  had  just  come  out  of  a  hospital.  He  was 
attacked  near  Tlemcen  one  evening,  robbed,  and 
left  on  the  road  for  dead.  That  is  one  of  the 
worst  cases  we  have,  though  there  are  others  of  a 
piece  with  it.  The  priests  ride  on  the  box  with 
the  armed  driver,  and  in  the  rotunda  are  some 
Arabs  who  are  going  to  witness  on  the  side  of  the 
accused;  one  of  them  you  must  look  at — he  is 


THE   EARTHQUAKE  285 


dressed  like  a  prince  and  has  the  face  of  le  diable 
meme.  He  is  the  son  of  a  Bach-Agha." 

By  and  by  we  came  to  a  little  roadside  caravan- 
serai, and  every  one  got  out,  the  handsome,  non- 
chalant Arabs  and  their  "  murdered  man  "  among 
the  rest.  The  poor  cure  looked  very  ill  still,  and 
had  a  refined  but  shabby  appearance.  The  Bach- 
Agha's  son  was  dressed  in  purple  and  fine  raiment, 
and  looked  a  king — till  you  saw  his  face  closely, 
when  he  looked  a  very  Mephistopheles.  It  was 
an  indescribably  cruel,  clever,  sensual  face — a 
face  from  which  one  turned  with  repugnance. 

After  passing  through  some  very  lovely 
tamarisk  groves,  amid  which  wound  a  broad, 
bright  river — a  branch  of  the  Chelif — we  entered 
upon  the  vast  monotonous  plain  of  the  Habra. 
These  African  plains  are  only  varied  here  and 
there  by  shifting  bands  of  road-makers,  military 
posts,  and  by  little  French  colonies  or  Arab 
douars;  and  when  you  commence  your  journey 
you  feel  as  if  it  would  never  end.  You  cross 
horizon  after  horizon.  You  see  a  white  speck  in 
the  distance,  and  say,  "  That  must  be  our  halting- 
place'5;  but  when  you  arrive  it  is  a  military  post 
and  nothing  more.  The  dogs  rush  out  barking  and 
yelling;  French  Zouaves,  who  stand  basking  in 
the  sun,  come  up  to  ask  for  newspapers  and 
letters;  and  the  Spahis  look  at  us  whilst  they 
smoke  their  paper  cigarettes,  and  show  their 
white  teeth  as  they  say  " Bon  jour''  Then,  after 


286  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

every  one  getting  a  glass  of  wine  and  a  bit  of 
bread,  the  diligence  moves  slowly  off,  and  we 
leave  behind  the  glistening  white  post,  the  red- 
cloaked,  brown-skinned  Spahis  and  the  pack  of 
dogs. 

How  hot  it  is  !  When  we  alight  and  walk  a 
little  way,  ankle-deep  in  alpha  grass  and  wild 
thyme,  the  leaves  seem  warm  and  dry  as  if  the 
soil  below  were  burning  with  volcanic  fire.  We 
shall  be  sunburnt  to  the  complexion  of  Moors 
before  our  journey  is  done,  we  say,  and  when 
inside  the  diligence,  yet  we  pin  up  shawls,  curtain- 
wise,  to  keep  out  the  wind  that  is  as  hot  now  as 
it  was  cold  when  we  started.  The  plains  have 
each  a  climate  of  their  own,  and  travellers  should 
always  plan  their  journeys  as  we  did,  i.  e.  avoid 
crossing  them  at  early  morning  or  at  night,  when 
a  terrible  miasma  arises  from  the  soil,  and  is  never 
harmless — often  dangerous  as  poison. 

Mostaganem  is  a  lively  little  place,  and  on 
account  of  the  assizes  was  full  of  strangers. 
Greatly  to  our  amusement,  we  encountered  our 
stout  compagnon  du  voyage  on  the  evening  of  our 
arrival,  as  shrunk  from  his  natural  size  as  a  rabbit 
after  skinning.  What  strange  metamorphosis  had 
changed  him  in  so  short  a  space  from  a  Falstaff 
to  a  Cassius?  It  was  very  perplexing,  but  on  a 
sudden  it  flashed  upon  us  that  as  all  his  luggage 
had  consisted  of  a  hat-box,  and  that  as  he  had 
doffed  a  thick  grey  travelling  dress  and  now  wore 


THE   EARTHQUAKE  287 

a  suit  of  shining  black  cloth,  he  must  have  carried 
his  wardrobe  on  his  back.  It  was  very  simple. 

At  Mostaganem  we  made  the  acquaintance  of  a 
countrywoman,  the  wife  of  a  French  gentleman 
there  holding  a  responsible  official  post.  Every 
one  in  Oran  is  sure  to  be  an  official  if  he  is  not  in 
the  army;  and  it  is  curious  to  see  how  the  differ- 
ence of  calling  modifies  the  political  and  social 
opinions.  I  never  at  this  time  talked  with  a 
French  officer  who  was  not  entirely  opposed  to 
the  assimilation  of  races  and  incredulous  of  Arab 
civilization,  nor  with  an  official  who  was  not 
equally  enthusiastic  about  both. 

My  countrywoman  spoke  of  the  Arabs  with 
great  sympathy. 

She  said  :  "  Think  of  what  they  have  suffered 
during  the  past  year !  They  had  planted  their 
little  bits  of  cornfields,  and  the  corn  was  shooting 
up  in  abundance,  when  the  locusts  came  in  billions 
and  trillions,  and  corn,  potatoes,  rye,  everything 
was  destroyed.  They  starve,  or  else  they  steal, 
and  fill  our  prisons  and  reformatories.  People 
say,  let  them  starve  or  work;  but  you  cannot 
change  the  habits  of  a  people  in  a  day. 

"  Most  of  these  poor  things  under  trial,"  this 
lady  continued,  "  are  Bedouins,  as  ignorant  as 
savages  from  Timbuctoo.  I  have  lived  for  years 
among  the  Arabs — in  Constantine,  in  Algeria,  in 
Oran — I  have  studied  Arabic  on  purpose  to  hold 
intercourse  with  them  and  to  be  able  to  sympathize 


288  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

with  and  understand  my  husband's  calling,  and  I 
have  come  to  this  conclusion  :  it  is  only  by  assimi- 
lation that  the  Arab  is  to  be  improved.  There 
was  a  great  outcry  among  the  colonists  after  the 
Emperor  had  visited  Africa  in  1865,  because  Ke 
was  said  to  show  partiality  to  the  Arab ;  but,  good 
heavens  !  what  a  different  position  does  the  honest 
colon  hold  to  the  richest  indigene  !  The  colon 
is  a  Frenchman,  and  therefore  a  noble  being;  the 
indigene  is  an  Arab,  and  what  isn't  good  enough 
for  an  Arab  ?  For  my  part,  I  think  the  Emperor 
was  wise  in  taking  that  tone.  The  colonists  have 
much  to  suffer,  but  the  Arabs  incontestably  more ; 
and  if  the  Emperor  did  not  take  their  part  just 
then,  who  would  have  done  so  ? " 

We  rested  two  nights  at  Mostaganem,  the 
blessed  rain  falling  all  the  time,  though  no  sooner 
were  we  on  our  way  again  than  the  sun  came  out 
and  all  was  bright  and  warm. 

Our  next  halting-place  was  Relizane.  We 
reached  Relizane  in  six  hours'  easy  travelling 
through  a  monotonous  country,  part  wild,  part 
cultivated,  with  flocks  of  cranes  feeding  on  the 
pastures,  vultures  and  eagles  flying  overhead, 
coveys  of  partridges  whirring  from  the  brushwood, 
and  hares  scuttling  across  the  road  as  we  passed 
along.  Whenever  we  passed  an  Arab  village  a 
crowd  of  half  or  wholly  naked  children  ran  down 
and  followed  us,  calling  out  for  coppers.  They 
would  run  incredible  distances  thus,  and  when  a 


THE   EARTHQUAKE  289 

coin  was  thrown  out  there  would  be  a  diving 
of  little  black  polls  in  the  grass,  a  momentary 
scramble,  then  all  were  ready  to  start  afresh. 
Those  who  were  fortunate  enough  to  get  the 
money  put  it  in  their  mouths — having  no  clothes, 
they  could  clearly  have  no  pockets — and  if  not 
a  comfortable,  it  was  certainly  a  safe  and  con- 
venient mode  of  carrying  their  spoils. 

It  was  here  that  we  learned  of  the  earthquake, 
hitherto  having  only  got  news  of  "  smart  rumbles  " 
here  and  there.  We  now  learned  that  the  Metidja 
had  just  been  rendered  desolate,  church  spires  in 
many  villages  alone  remaining  aloft. 

Never  shall  I  forget  our  journey  from  Relizane 
to  Algiers.  We  were,  happily,  under  no  appre- 
hension about  those  dear  to  us,  as  we  now  received 
telegrams  from  them  assuring  us  of  their  safety; 
but  every  one  we  met  had  some  fearful  story  to 
tell  throughout  the  villages  of  the  Metidja.  We 
knew  these  places  well,  having  visited  them  twelve 
months  before;  and  our  hearts  failed  us  at  the 
thought  of  what  we  were  now  to  see  in  place  of 
the  peace  and  plenty  we  had  then  beheld. 

The  first  town  within  the  devastated  circle, 
Miliana,  stood  intact,  though  the  prevailing 
panic  was  indescribable.  All  the  women  were 
well-nigh  frenzied.  Some  had  lost  relations  and 
friends,  swallowed  up  like  Korah,  Dathan  and 
Abiram,  or  buried  under  the  ruins  of  their  own 
homes;  others  lay  abed,  clean  paralyzed  by  terror; 


u 


290  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

other  sat  abroad,  white  and  dumb,  awaiting  a  final 
shock  which  was  to  prove  the  crack  of  doom. 
Wherever  we  went  we  heard  dreadingly  exag- 
gerated reports.  According  to  one,  the  Zakkar, 
a  mountain  as  high  as  Snowdon,  rising  to  the  north 
of  Miliana,  had  rocked  to  and  fro,  emitting 
flames  of  fire;  according  to  another,  many  houses 
had  been  split  and  shaken  by  the  shock. 

If  the  former  account  were  true,  we  found  the 
mouth  of  the  Zakkar  shut  close  enough,  and  its 
sides  had  grown  marvellously  green  since  the 
catastrophe,  though  happening  only  a  few  days 
back.  We  walked  round  and  round  the  town,  and 
saw  no  houses  here  that  had  taken  any  harm.  The 
shock  was,  nevertheless,  awful,  as  we  gathered 
from  the  plain,  unvarnished  account  given  us  by 
the  -prefet.  He  had  expected  at  the  time  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  the  entire  destruction  of 
Miliana. 

The  shock  had  been  severely  felt  at  Algiers 

and  Blidah,  but  it  was  a  little  cluster  of  villages 

— Bou-kika,  Mouzaiaville,  El-Affron  and  others 

—that  had  most  suffered.    Our  way  lay  through 

some  of  these,  and  so  recent  was  the  calamity,  and 

so  inaccurate  the  accounts  of  it,  that  we  set  off 

to  Algiers  without  in  the  least  knowing  where 

we  could  break  the  journey.    Some  people  said : 

"Bou-kika   is    unharmed;    you    will    find    every 

accommodation    at    Bou-kika."      Others    said : 


THE   EARTHQUAKE  291 


"  You  will  have  to  go  right  to  Blidah,  and  break 
your  journey  there.  Blidah  is  recovering  itself, 
and  you  will  find  the  hotels  much  the  same  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.'7  Others  said  :  "  Blidah 
is  as  empty  as  a  plundered  place.  There  isn't  a 
crust  of  bread  to  be  had  there." 

In  this  uncertainty  we  set  off.  It  was  a  superb 
moonlight  night,  and  as  we  passed  along  we  saw 
woeful  things. 

We  had  talked  of  sleeping  at  Bou-kika,  but  the 
place  was  dead  and  silent  as  if  death  were  in 
every  dwelling.  Folks  lay,  in  fact,  encamped 
outside  the  village,  and  knots  of  soldiers,  gathered 
round  a  watch-fire,  guarded  the  deserted  houses. 
Here  the  ruin  had  been  partial ;  but  soon  we  came 
to  ghastly  spectres  of  what,  a  week  ago,  had 
been  thriving  little  towns — each  with  its  church, 
hotel,  shops  and  cafes.  Here  and  there,  above 
great  heaps  of  brick  and  mortar,  stood  out  a 
chimney,  wall  or  doorway,  or,  indeed,  a  dwell- 
ing, split  like  a  pomegranate;  the  place  had 
collapsed  like  a  child's  card-house.  One  must 
tread  upon  the  heels  of  an  earthquake  to  under- 
stand what  it  is — the  suddenness  of  it,  the  despair 
of  it,  the  desolation  of  it.  More  than  a  hundred 
souls  had  been  buried  alive  in  this  neighbourhood 
alone,  among  them  many  infants.  In  some  cases 
terrified  mothers  had  forgotten  their  nurslings ! 

We  reached  Blidah  early  in  the  morning,  and 

U  2 


292  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

found  the  town  as  deserted  as  if  stricken  by  a 
plague.  The  large,  prosperous  hotel  where  we 
had  often  stayed  before  was  shut  up.  The  streets 
were  death-like  silent,  the  shops  were  all  closed. 
Thankful  enough  were  we  to  get  coffee  and  a 
morsel  of  bread  at  a  little  half -ruined  cabaret 
before  taking  the  early  train  to  Algiers.  All 
Blidah  was  under  canvas,  but  the  waiter  or  may- 
be -patron  had  not  forsaken  his  post.  '  You  don't 
mean  to  say  you  sleep  under  those  tottering 
walls  ? "  we  asked,  as  we  breakfasted  outside. 
"What  would  you  have,  ladies?"  was  his  reply. 
"  One  must  get  one's  daily  bread." 

The  camps  were  outside  the  town,  and  the  long 
lines  of  tents,  and  unwonted  aspect  of  hundreds 
of  wealthy  families  turned  out  of  house  and  home, 
and  shifting  for  themselves  in  the  best  way  they 
could,  was  sad  and  strange.  It  was  breakfast- 
time.  Coffee  was  boiling  on  every  little  camp- 
fire;  children  were  running  about  borrowing  a 
neighbour's  cup  or  pitcher;  ladies  were  making 
their  toilettes  as  best  they  could;  men  were  wan- 
dering hither  and  thither,  smoking  away  their 
disturbed  thoughts. 

The  Arabs  alone  looked  perfectly  unmoved. 
"It  is  the  will  of  Allah,"  they  say  when  any  evil 
happens,  and  they  resign  themselves  to  it,  out- 
wardly calm  as  statues. 

In  about  an  hour  and  a  half  we  reached  Algiers. 
The  weather  was  glorious;  and  as  we  drove  up  to 


THE   EARTHQUAKE  293 

the  well-known  villa  on  the  green  height  of  Mus- 
tapha  Superieure,  and  looked  down  upon  tur- 
quoise sea,  glistening  shore,  and  palatial  Moorish 
city  crowning  its  umbrageous  heights,  never  had 
the  whole  seemed  more  enchantingly  beautiful. 


CHAPTER    XXII 
SOME   OF    "THE   QUALITY" 


CHAPTER   XXII 

SOME  OF  "THE  QUALITY" 

DURING  these  sojourns  on  French- African  soil, 
I  may  say,  in  the  words  of  Lord  Bacon,  that  I 
"  obtained  acquaintance  with  many  citizens  not 
of  the  meanest  quality."  As  in  my  own  case,  these 
leaders  of  thought  were  mainly  concerned  with 
Algerian  progress,  and  are  rather  of  colonial  than 
cosmopolitan  renown ;  I  do  not  attempt  a  roll-call. 
Twentieth-century  travellers  following  in  my  foot- 
steps and  caring  to  compare  their  experiences  with 
my  own,  will  realize  the  magnificent  results  of 
patriotic  fervour  and  collective  enterprise.  Con- 
cerning two  Algerian  acquaintances,  certainly 
"not  of  the  meanest  quality,"  I  will,  however, 
allow  myself  to  be  anecdotical. 

I  have  before  alluded  to  the  Marechal's  feats 
of  taciturnity.  I  now  relate  a  tour  de  force  of 
other  kind,  namely,  a  smile  that  not  only  saved 
France  from  civil  war,  but  probably  a  European 
conflagration,  and  last,  but  not  least,  his  honour. 

When  in  1873  Royalist  plots  and  machinations 
had  failed,  the  Comte  de  Chambord  decided  upon 

297 


298  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

a  step  to  which  even  a  Charles  X  would  not  have 
stooped,  in  other  words,  to  humble  himself  in  the 
dust  by  secretly  obtaining  an  interview  with  the 
Marshal-President  at  Versailles.  The  bluff  old 
Irishman  had  already  formulated  the  situation  by 
an  epigram. 

"  Should  the  white  flag  be  displayed  in  Paris,5' 
he  had  said,  "the  ckassepots  would  go  off  of 
themselves." 

"  But,"  reiterated  the  devotees  of  the  oriflamme 
holding  a  divan,  "would  the  Bayard  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  shut  his  door  against  the  descend- 
ant of  French  Kings  ?  " 

The  Bourbon  came  of  an  absolutely  unlearn- 
able  race.  For  each  scion  of  that  race  French 
history  ended  as  in  French  convents  at  the  time, 
namely,  1789. 

So  the  ignominious  and  immoral  step  was 
decided  upon.  The  champion  of  the  Church,  the 
man  whose  daily  life  was  principally  spent  in 
devotional  exercises,  left  Frohsdorf  for  Versailles 
with  the  utmost  secrecy,  his  errand  being  to 
entice  an  honest  man  from  his  pledged  word  and 
duty. 

On  the  loth  of  November,  1873,*  a  card  was 
handed  to  Madame  de  MacMahon  bearing  the 
name  of  "M.  de  Blear-Blacas,  emissary  of  the 
Marquis  de  Dreux-Breze."  On  the  visitor  being 
received,  his  first  words  were— 

1  See  M.  Hanotaux'  Great  History,  Vol.  II. 


SOME   OF    "THE   QUALITY"       299 

"  The  King  is  at  Versailles  and  wishes  to  see 
the  Marechal !  " 

Even  this  thunderbolt  did  not  unnerve  the 
ready-witted  and  loyal  little  lady.  Promptly  and 
without  the  slightest  agitation  she  replied — 

"  I  am  unable  to  speak  for  my  husband,  but  I 
doubt  that  it  will  be  possible  for  him  to  meet 
monseigneur's  wishes."  Note  the  tactful  omission 
of  the  word  "king." 

The  emissary  still  harping  on  the  subject, 
Mme.  de  MacMahon  at  last  suggested  that  the 
Comte  de  Chambord,  accompanied  by  her  visitor, 
should  call  on  her  husband  at  his  "official  resi- 
dence," adding  that  of  course  he  would  be 
received  and  treated  with  the  utmost  respect.  It 
was  now  M.  de  Blacas'  turn  to  receive  a  shock. 

"  Comment!"  exclaimed  the  horrified  legitimist, 
"you  propose,  Madame,  that  the  King  should 
himself  call  on  the  Marechal?" 

That  French  equivalent  for  our  own  simple 
"what,"  a  Frenchman  once  explained  to  me,  is 
capable  of  expressing  a  dozen  meanings  from 
surprise  to  contempt,  and  from  indignation  to  the 
last  and  most  vehement  reproach. 

The  discomfited  emissary  then  took  leave  and 
personally  interviewed  the  Marshal-President, 
who  repeated  his  wife's  words.  Did  the  Comte 
de  Chambord  honour  him  with  a  visit  he  would 
be  most  courteously  received.  Even  this  rebuff 
did  not  damp  the  other's  ardour.  After  reiterated 


300  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

argumentation  and  passionate  pleading,  he  drew 
from  his  pocket  a  key  and  held  it  towards 
MacMahon. 

"Here,"  he  said,  "is  the  key  of  the  King's 
private  apartment,"  naming  a  hotel  close  by. 
"  The  King  awaits  you  and  is  alone.  On  my  most 
solemn  vow,  no  one  shall  ever  learn  of  this  step 
having  i>een  taken." 

MacMahon  smiled — and  did  not  take  the  key. 
We  may  well  imagine  that  the  famous  smile 
was  a  sad  one.  All  the  gallant  soldier's  sym- 
pathies were  with  monarchy  and  the  old  order  of 
things.  As  he  afterwards  confided  to  another 
friend  of  the  Comte  de  Ghambord,  he  could  offer 
him  his  life,  but  never  his  honour.  M.  Hanotaux 
adds  :  "  This  little  drama,  this  decision,  termin- 
ated the  history  of  old  France  ...  a  key  offered 
and  refused,  a  smile,  and  destiny  was  accom- 
plished." 

The  proposed  meeting  between  the  President 
of  the  French  Republic  and  "  Henri  V."— I  still 
quote  the  same  historian^-"  was  to  have  resulted 
in  a  restoration,  after  the  manner  of  1814.  The 
hero  of  Majenta  and  the  last  of  the  Bourbons 
were  suddenly  to  enter  the  Chamber  of  Deputies 
arm-in-arm.  Astoundment,  admiration  of  dash 
and  daring,  MacMahon's  enormous  prestige, 
lastly,  romantic  sentiment,  would  have  restored 
the  Ancien  Regime  !  " 

I  am  glad  to  have  oft-times  seen  a  smile— so 
often  a  mere  inanition  or  artificiality — of  one  who 


SOME   OF   "THE   QUALITY'       301 

once  smiled  to  such  good  purpose.  Glad  am  I 
also  to  have  known  the  keen-witted,  resolute  little 
lady  ever  capable  of  literally  taking  a  bull  by 
the  horns,  and  never  allowing  feelings,  however 
warm,  to  stand  in  the  way  of  duty. 

I  will  now  say  a  few  words  about  my  host  of 
Mustapha  Superieur,  as  was  his  wife,  "  an 
acquaintance  not  of  the  meanest  quality,"  and 
one  who  deserves  a  memorial  from  my  pen. 

Original,  epigrammatical,  picturesque  as  his 
brilliantly  complexioned  Anglo-Saxon  wife,  the 
pair  presented  a  striking  contrast,  the  Breton 
doctor,  swarthy  as  a  Moor,  his  tall  stature  and 
slow,  deliberate  carriage  being  also  in  keeping 
with  his  Oriental  neighbours.  When  husband  and 
wife  strolled  abroad,  passers-by  might  well  have 
anticipated  the  wonderful  life-story  of  Emily,  nee 
Keene,  Shareefa  of  the  Wazan.1 

Sixty  years  ago  no  more  picturesque  sight  could 
have  met  an  artist's  eyes  in  Algiers  than  Dr. 
Eugene  Bodichon  holding  gratuitous  consulta- 
tions in  his  Moorish  quarters. 

Below  his  airy  height — for  the  room  was  on  an 
upper  storey— gleamed  the  city,  sloping  towards 
the  sea ;  above  shone  the  unbroken  sky  of  intense 
blue,  whilst  worthy  of  such  romantic  environment 
was  the  figure  of  the  miracle-working  doctor  him- 
self, for  such  indeed  he  seemed  to  his  artless, 
half-savage  clients.  A  motley  crowd  would 
collect — pure-blooded  sons  of  Ishmael,  children 
1  Published  1912  :  Duckworth. 


302  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

of  the  desert,  the  swarthy  negro,  the  brown 
Kabyle,  besides  Jews,  Spaniards,  Germans  and 
French  soldiers — who  came  to  be  cured  or  advised 
for  nothing  !  Their  faith  in  the  French  physician 
was  absolute,  and  certainly  some  of  his  successful 
cases,  surgical  and  otherwise,  were  worthy  of  the 
noise  they  created  in  Algeria  at  the  time,  and 
worthy  to  be  recorded. 

One  of  the  little  band  called  the  "  Republicans 
of  '30,"  austere,  incorruptible,  dauntless  fellow- 
worker  with  the  great  Tribune,  Ledru-Rollin,  with 
Louis  Blanc,  Guepin  of  Nantes,  and  other  de- 
fenders of  liberty  and  the  democratic  idea,  lastly, 
as  a  foremost  pioneer  of  civilization  in  Algeria, 
among  the  first  to  realize  on  African  soil  what 
there  was  the  business  of  the  conqueror,  and  what 
it  was  not,  the  liberator  of  the  slaves  in  Algeria, 
the  advocate  of  the  Berbers,  the  planter  of  the 
eucalyptus — such  was  my  old  friend. 

The  Breton  savant  was  a  physical  type  also. 
Sussex  county  folks  turned  to  take  a  second  look 
at  that  tall,  striking  figure,  with  bare  head  crowned 
with  masses  of  close-set,  short,  curly  black  hair— 
because  he  always  went  hatless,  of  course  he  was 
deemed  demented ! 

When  making  his  way  to  Algiers  through  south- 
western France  in  the  winter  of  1870,  he  was 
arrested  at  Bordeaux  under  suspicion  of  being  a 
Prussian  spy.  "  Now,"  said  the  doctor,  confront- 
ing the  commissary  of  police,  "  I  appeal  to  your 


SOME   OF    "THE   QUALITY'       303 

reason  and  ethnology.  Look  at  my  hair.  Had 
ever  a  Prussian  hair  like  mine?"  "Hair  goes 
to  dye,  doctor,"  remarked  the  commissary,  who, 
however,  let  his  prisoner  go. 

Breton  characteristics,  mental  as  well  as 
physical,  marked  him.  In  the  maternal  chateau 
near  Nantes,  the  doctor's  home  of  childhood, 
ghostly  noises  and  spectral  visions  were  heard  and 
seen  at  night.  These  were  the  cries  and  shapes 
of  decapitated  ancestors  and  ancestresses,  victims 
of  the  Terror;  and  the  doctor,  as  well  as  other 
members  of  the  family,  firmly  believed  in  them. 
Nor  were  these  ghost-stories  the  only  marvellous 
pages  in  the  domestic  chronicle. 

One  of  Dr.  Bodichon's  aunts  was  a  cloistered 
nun  at  Le  Mans,  where,  in  her  old  age,  he  occa- 
sionally, and  once  with  his  wife,  visited  her.  The 
lady,  when  a  young  and  handsome  girl  just 
introduced  into  society,  a  devotee  of  fashion  and 
pleasure,  visited  on  horseback  an  elder  sister, 
herself  a  cloistered  nun.  The  visit  being  over,  she 
had  remounted,  the  convent  gates  were  thrown 
wide  to  admit  of  her  egress,  when  her  mount 
backed.  The  horsewoman  touched  it  lightly  with 
her  whip,  but  it  backed  a  second,  a  third  time. 

"  I  recognize  the  voice  of  Heaven !  "  cried  the 
young  lady,  throwing  the  reins  over  the  horse's 
head,  and  preparing  to  dismount.  "  My  vocation 
is  here." 


304  IN   FRENCH- AFRICA 

True  enough,  the  convent  gates  were  straight- 
way closed.  She  alighted,  re-entered  the  convent 
walls,  then  and  there  exchanged  her  riding-habit 
for  the  robe  of  a  novice,  and  devoted  the 
remainder  of  her  existence  to  penitence  and 
prayer. 

In  spite  of  such  early  associations,  Eugene,  as 
soon  as  he  was  capable  of  independent  thought, 
went  over  to  the  ranks  of  democracy.  Such  a 
career  indeed  affords  curious  insight  into  French 
history.  We  realize  how  tremendous  must  be  the 
force  of  conviction  that  leads  loyal,  affectionate 
and  patriotic  natures  thus  to  break  loose  for  once 
and  for  all  from  family  tradition,  domestic  ties, 
social  usages  and  public  opinion. 

There  were  ardent  spirits  in  Paris  in  those  days, 
and  associated  with  the  choicest  of  these,  many 
of  them  lifelong  friends,  young  Bodichon  pur- 
sued his  medical  curriculum,  at  the  same  time 
contributing  to  the  scientific  and  democratic  litera- 
ture of  the  day.  One  important  result  of  his 
physiological  studies  in  the  school  of  Majendie 
was  an  abhorrence  of  vivisection.  Throughout 
his  after  life  the  doctor  remained  a  steadfast 
opponent  of  experiments  in  any  shape  upon  living 
animals.  Perhaps  it  was  the  spectacle  of  the  tor- 
ments inflicted  on  them  in  his  youth  by  his  terrible 
master  that  made  him  ever  after  the  tenderest 
friend  of  dumb  things.  During  his  student  <days 
he  made  a  holiday  trip  to  Algeria  and  brought 


SOME   OF   "THE   QUALITY'        305 

home  a  pet  jackal,  which  used  to  follow  him  about 
like  a  dog.  Circumstances  compelled  him  to  give 
it  to  the  Jardin  des  Plantes  of  Paris.  At  the 
end  of  a  week  or  two  he  visited  the  jackal,  who 
received  him  with  the  liveliest  marks  of  joy  and 
affection.  The  visit  was  repeated,  whereupon  the 
keeper  respectfully  begged  him  to  go  no  more. 

"  I  assure  you,"  he  said,  "  the  poor  animal 
would  not  touch  food  for  days  after  your  last 
visit.  We  were  afraid  he  would  starve  himself 
to  death." 

That  experimental  trip  to  Algiers  resulted  in 
a  final  settlement  on  African  soil.  On  the  com- 
pletion of  his  medical  studies,  the  doctor  sold 
his  patrimonial  estate  in  Brittany  and  sailed  for 
Africa,  there  devoting  himself  to  gratuitous 
medical  services  among  the  native  population  and 
the  poor,  ethnological  and  historical  studies,  the 
work  of  colonization,  and  that  close  observation 
of  animal  life  for  which  he  was  so  remarkable. 

He  was  a  wonderful  relater  of  dog-stories. 
One  of  his  dogs  was  a  bit  of  a  snob,  he  used  to 
tell  us,  delighting  in  worldly  prosperity  and  in 
the  sense  of  being  looked  up  to  accordingly.  On 
a  certain  occasion — this  was  when  the  doctor  no 
longer  lived  in  the  Moorish  quarter  before  alluded 
to,  but  married  and  moved  to  Mustapha  Superieure 
— the  dog  returned  from  a  run  with  a  canine 
neighbour  evidently  belonging  to  an  inferior  posi- 


306  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

tion  in  life.  The  host  took  his  guest  all  over  the 
house,  with  a  look  that  said  as  clearly  as  words 
could  do,  "  Now,  how  would  you  feel  if  you  lived 
in  such  a  house  as  this  ?  " 

Another  dog — not  a  pet,  but  an  enemy  and 
disturber  of  the  public  peace — was  Dr.  Bodichon's 
"  Professeur  d'Aboiement,"  or  self-constituted 
leader  of  an  Amateur  Barking  Society.  This 
misguided  animal  used  to  commence  operations 
after  sunset  in  Algiers,  and  take  the  lead  of  all 
the  dogs  inclined  to  bark  in  season  and  out  of 
season.  The  nuisance  became  so  intolerable  that 
the  canine  "  Professeur  "  was  at  last  laid  violent 
hands  on  by  the  police. 

The  doctor  had  plenty  of  more  momentous 
work  on  hand.  His  most  interesting  and  valuable 
contributions  to  the  study  of  ethnology,  and  im- 
portant works  on  French  colonization  in  Africa, 
were  written  and  published  between  1835  and 
1866.  He  was  also  employed  by  the  Government 
as  "Medecin  de  la  Justice,"  that  is  to  say,  con- 
sulting coroner.  Upon  one  occasion  he  was 
summoned  by  the  authorities  to  examine  three 
travellers  who  had  been,  as  they  declared  upon 
oath,  robbed  and  half  murdered  by  assassins  on 
the  public  road,  for  which  loss  and  outrage  they 
demanded  a  government  indemnity.  The  doctor 
carefully  examined  the  wounds,  which  were  not 
trifling,  but  he  found  that  one  and  all  had  been 
self-inflicted,  and  with  a  most  scientific  avoidance 


SOME   OF  THE   "QUALITY'       307 

of  vital  parts.  His  private  practice,  chiefly 
gratuitous,  also  abounded  in  curious  experiences. 
One  day  an  Arab  came  to  his  surgery  carrying 
something  wrapped  up  in  the  folds  of  his  bur- 
nouse. The  poor  fellow  had  been  gored  by  a  wild 
boar,  and  thus  brought  his  own  intestines  to  the 
doctor  to  be  restored  to  their  proper  place,  which 
was  effected !  Bedouin  Arabs  would  often  come 
from  a  great  distance  in  the  interior  to  consult  the 
doctor  about  their  wives.  Fatima  or  Ayesha,  the 
pride  of  the  desert  harem,  had  been  enceinte  for 
two  years,  but  the  child  could  not  be  brought  to 
the  birth.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  It  was,  maybe, 
is  still,  a  common  belief  among  these  people  that 
the  condition  of  pregnancy  may  be  almost  in- 
definitely protracted,  and  often  husbands  were 
deluded  into  the  fond  prospect  of  offspring  when 
there  was  no  foundation  whatever  for  the  hope. 
Such  consulters  the  doctor  had  to  send  uncom- 
forted  away. 

But  the  surgical  case  which  noised  his  skill 
abroad  was  the  cure  of  his  friend  Bombonnel, 
described  by  the  patient.  Who  has  not  heard 
of  Bombonnel,  extolled  by  Victor  Hugo,  put 
just  as  he  was,  although  still  alive  and  well,  into 
Daudet's  novel  of  Tartarin — the  valiant,  vivacious 
Frenchman,  small  of  stature,  who  began  life  by 
hawking  shoes  and  stockings  in  the  streets  of  New 
Orleans,  rapidly  made  a  fortune,  as  rapidly  spent 

it  in  those  wonderful   raids   upon   the  panther, 
x  2 


808  IN  FRENCH- AFRICA 

chronicled  by  his  own  untrained  pen  so  graphic- 
ally ;  finally,  after  as  many  hair-breadth  escapes  as 
Othello  himself,  settling  down  on  the  pleasant 
little  estate  near  Algiers  presented  to  him  by  the 
French  Government  in  recognition  of  his  services, 
there  to  enjoy,  otium  cum  dignitate,  the  society 
of  lions,  tame  and  wild,  with  an  occasional  visit 
from  some  royal  or  distinguished  devotee  of  the 
chase.  Bombonnel  died  soon  after  his  friend. 

It  is  noteworthy,  by  the  way,  that  the  Breton 
doctor,  although  a  staunch  opponent  of  Bonapart- 
ism  and  Ultramontanism,  was  always  in  good 
odour  with  the  priests.  Upon  one  occasion  he 
was  the  means  of  saving  the  lives  of  several 
clericals,  including  that  of  a  bishop.  The  party 
were  travelling  together  after  heavy  rains  in  the 
wilds  of  Algeria,  and  had  come  to  one  of  those 
mountain  streams,  in  usual  weather  traversed  by 
horsemen  and  even  by  the  diligence  without  diffi- 
culty. After  the  amount  of  rain  that  had  recently 
fallen,  however,  it  was  now  perilous-  to  go  back, 
and  it  seemed  impossible  to  proceed.  The  doctor, 
then  of  Herculean  strength,  first  of  all  shouldered 
the  bishop  and  got  him  safely  across  the  river. 
He  next  returned  for  the  two  priests,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  carrying  each  in  turn  to  the  place  of 
harbourage.  The  bishop  then  and  there  gave  his 
preserver  plenary  absolution,  and  no  wonder ! 
Had  his  rescuer  written  even  harder  hitting  things 
against  sacerdotalism — were  that  possible — no 


SOME   OF    "THE    QUALITY'       309 

right-minded    prelate    could    have    surely    done 
less. 

The  nuns  also  were  always  on  friendliest  terms 
with  their  anti-clerical  neighbour,  for  a  sisterhood 
adjoined  Dr.  Bodicjion's  country  residence.  The 
sisters  would  tell  him  of  their  little  troubles,  and 
doubtless,  poor  simple  souls,  thought  that  as  the 
doctor  was  Catholic  born  and  bred,  there  never 
could  be  any  harm  in  him,  no  matter  what  he 
might  write  or  think !  There  was  one  poor  girl 
dying  of  consumption,  a  Little  Sister  of  the  Poor, 
or  something  of  the  kind,  who  used  to  find  com- 
fort in  thus  getting  a  word  of  sympathy  from  a 
stranger.  She  had  forsaken  her  happy  home  in 
far-off  Alsace  for  this  calling,  and  was  now  about 
to  die,  unpitied  and  unregretted.  "  What  does 
it  matter  to  any  one  here  when  I  die? "  she  sai^l. 
"Another  is  ready  to  take  my  place."  So  she 
went  about  her  work  uncomplainingly  to  the  last, 
uncheered  save  by  an  occasional  word  of  com- 
fort from  the  Breton  doctor.  Such  a  power  of 
eliciting  the  confidence  of  those  as  far  as  possible 
removed  from  ourselves  by  habits  of  thought, 
bringing  up  and  general  surroundings,  is  very 
rare,  and  he  possessed  it  in  an  eminent  degree. 
On  the  occasion  of  his  year's  sojourn  in  America 
later  with  his  English  wife,  this  sympathetic 
quality,  combined  with  the  originality  and  force 
of  his  character,  brought  him  into  contact  with 
the  finest  spirits  of  that  epoch — Emerson,  Long- 


310  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

fellow,:  Agassis,  of  such  were  his  transatlantic 
friends. 

After  his  marriage,  the  doctor's  active  life  as 
a  physician  terminated ;  but  the  work  to  which  he 
now  devoted  himself  was  equally  important. 

This  was  the  endeavour  to  force  on  the  public 
mind  the  necessity  of  replanting  Algeria,  with  the 
certain  amelioration  of  its  climate,  by  means  of 
the  febrifugal  Eucalyptus  globulus,  of  which  at 
one  time  we  heard  so  much.  This  wonderful  tree, 
the  blue  gum  of  Australia,  a  species  of  the  myrtle 
tribe,  was  discovered  by  a  Frenchman  at  the 
beginning  of  the  French  Revolution.  How  little 
dreamed  the  gallant  navigator  Labillardiere,  sent 
out  in  search  of  his  equally  gallant  countryman, 
La  Perouse,  that  the  tall,  striking  tree,  with  its 
bluish-green  leaves  dispensing  fragrance,  was  in 
its  turn  to  effect  a  veritable  revolution  !  No  other 
name  befits  the  important  economic  changes 
wrought  by  the  eucalyptus  in  Algeria  and  other 
tree-denuded  regions  within  our  own  times.  So 
rapid  is  its  growth,  and  so  beneficent  its  influence, 
that  twenty  years  after  sowing  the  seed  exists 
a  noble  and  health-giving  forest !  Wherever 
planted  in  sufficient  numbers,  the  deadly  miasma 
of  marshlands  disappears;  with  it  fever,  the 
entire  conditions  of  the  climate  and  soil  being 
transformed.  It  would  be  superfluous  to  mention 
here  the  numerous  products  of  the  eucalyptus  :  the 


SOME   OF    "THE   QUALITY'       311 

fragrant  soaps,  sedatives,  salves,  pills,  lozenges 
are  now  in  every  European  pharmacopoeia. 

Long  before  the  introduction  of  the  tree  into 
Algeria,  Dr.  Bodichon  had  insisted  on  the  need 
of  replanting  the  country,  in  many  places  com- 
pletely denuded  by  Arab  incendiaries  and  other 
methods  of  wilful  destruction.  Ever  an  epigram- 
matist, when  he  put  pen  to  paper,  he  wrote— 

1  The  tree,  the  spade  and  the  bale  of  mer- 
chandise, these  should  figure  on  the  seal  of  the 
ruler  of  Algeria." 

And  elsewhere— 

'  The  introduction  of  an  unknown  plant  is  often 
the  only  benefit  accruing  to  humanity  from  wars 
and  wholesale  migrations." 

Here,  pregnant  sentences  showing  to  what  good 
purpose  history  had  been  studied  by  the  writer ! 

"What  were  the  results  of  the  gigantic 
struggles  between  Europe  and  Asia  in  the  Middle 
Ages?  Four  or  five  millions  of  men  perished. 
Their  ashes  have  been  scattered  to  the  winds; 
but  meantime,  the  mulberry  tree,  the  sugar-cane, 
and  buckwheat  were  introduced  into  Europe. 
Such  is  the  real  result  to  humanity." 

Up  to  a  certain  point  he  lived  to  see  the  real- 
ization of  his  dreams.  Not  to  speak  of  his  own 
plantations,  hundreds  of  thousands  of  eucalyptus 
trees  have  now  been  grown  from  seed  in  what 


312  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

were  once  the  unhealthiest  and  most  arid  spots 
in  the  colony,  now  completely  transformed  by 
means  of  this  health-giving  tree.  The  same 
experiments  have  been  made,  and  with  equal 
success,  in  Spain,  Corsica,  Italy  and  elsewhere. 

And  the  propagation  of  the  eucalyptus  by 
private  individuals  and  companies  is  still  actively 
carried  on,  and  various  plantations  are  now  among 
the  sights  of  Algeria  shown  to  the  tourist. 

But  the  doctor  was  much  more  than  the  apostle 
of  the  tree  in  Algeria.  As  a  writer  in  the  Journal 
des  Debats  averred  after  his  death,  when  the 
history  of  the  French  Colony  is  written,  the  name 
of  Eugene  Bodichon  will  shine  in  letters  of  gold 
on  the  first  page.  He  was,  indeed,  in  one  especial 
sense,  the  maker  of  liberty  there.  Strange  as  it 
may  seem,  after  nearly  twenty  years  of  conquest, 
slavery  existed  in  full  force  throughout  Algeria. 
Rulers  and  lawmakers  had  apparently  forgotten 
that  the  famous  declaration  of  the  Rights  of  Man, 
pronounced  by  the  National  Assembly  in  1789, 
abolished  slavery.  When,  in  1848,  Dr.  Bodichon 
was  named  corresponding  member  of  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies  for  Algeria,  he  immediately 
suggested  the  liberation  of  slaves  throughout  the 
province,  a  measure  which  was  at  once  carried 
into  effect.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  he 
also  greatly  contributed  to  abolish  another 
kind  of  slavery.  We  speak  of  public  opinion 
in  the  matter  of  the  Napoleonic  prestige,  an 


SOME   OF   "THE   QUALITY"      313 

intellectual  subjection  almost  as  much  to  be 
deplored.  French  contemporary  literature  con- 
tains little  finer  in  its  way,  if  anything  at  all,  than 
the  study  of  the  first  Napoleon  in  the  second 
volume  of  his  opus  magnum,  De  UHumanite.1 
No  wonder  that  the  types  were  broken  up  by  the 
Imperial  police,  and  the  writer's  movements  made 
matter  for  suspicion  and  surveillance.  This  essay 
may  be  read  irrespective  of  the  remainder  of  the 
work,  and  I  was  told  by  William  Allingham  that 
Carlyle  not  only  perused  it  more  than  once,  but 
was  convinced  by  it,  having  up  to  that  time  enter- 
tained quite  a  different  opinion  of  the  modern 
Caesar,  here  dwindled  and  dwarfed  to  a  very 
contemptible  specimen  of  humanity  under  the 
merciless  microscope  of  positive  science  and 
physiology.  Observe,  by  the  way,  too,  that  this 
analysis  of  character,  so  trenchant,  so  original, 
so  true,  was  penned  long  before  the  appearance 
of  Lanfrey's  Biography,  Mme.  de  Remusat's 
Memoirs,  and  other  recent  works  corroborating 
the  Breton  savant's  view.  As  we  read  these 
axiomatic  and  discursive  pages,  we  are  led  to 
regret  that  the  writer  did  not  give  to  the  world 
some  historical  work  pure  and  simple.  His  know- 
ledge of  French  history  was  prodigious.  No 
matter  what  question  you  put  to  him,  trivial  or 
important,  he  could  answer  it  promptly.  No  slow 

1  Brussels  :  Lacroix,  1886.     Translated  in  Temple  Bar,  1873. 


314  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

ransacking  of  the  chambers  of  his  brain  was  neces- 
sary; each  fact  was  in  its  proper  place,  and  ready 
to  hand. 

In  a  later  work,  a  mere  brochure  published  in 
1882,  called  Le  Vade-mecum  de  la  -politique 
francaise,  are  one  or  two  passages  of  anticipatory 
interest.  Axiom  1 7  of  this  curious  little  pamphlet 
runs  as  follows— 

"  The  great  work  of  the  nineteenth  century  will 
be  the  conquest  of  the  Sahara  and  its  transforma- 
tion into  productive  territory — suppression  of 
brigandage  and  re-establishment  of  commercial 
relations  between  the  Soudan  and  the  Mediter- 


ranean.'3 


We  read  in  Captain  Hay  wood's  work  that 
French  civilization  of  the  Sahara  has  been  un- 
imaginably rapid  since  the  conquest  of  Timbuctoo 
fifteen  years  ago.  In  the  wildest  and  most  isolated 
spots  you  find  little  centres  of  French  life,  even 
elegant  homes  presided  over  by  highly  educated 
wives  of  soldiers  and  civilians ;  and,  disconcerting 
enough  to  animals,  telegraphic  communication  in 
sandy  wastes — giraffes  getting  their  long  necks 
therein  entangled  ! 

It  is  a  current  notion  among  English  folk  that 
the  typical  Frenchman,  especially  the  typical 
democrat,  must  be  a  cynical  Voltaire.  Worthy 
of  record  is  it  that  the  man  whose  career  I  have 
just  been  sketching  remained  to  the  last  a  stead- 


SOME   OF   "THE   QUALITY"      315 

fast  believer  in  God  and  immortality.  Evidence 
of  this  serene  and  high-souled  faith  abounds  in 
the  pages  of  De  VHumanite.  Deeply  significant 
are  such  utterances  as  the  following :  "  Moral 
truth  exists  in  God.  The  best  way  of  conceiving 
a  notion  of  the  Divinity  is  to  study  nature." 
"  The  naturalist  will  be  the  theologian  of  the 
future."  '  The  Divine  word  which  comes  without 
any  intermediary  or  interpreter  is  the  admirable 
wisdom  visible  in  every  work  of  the  Creator." 
I  could  cull  numberless  sayings  equally  full  of 
faith  and  reverence  from  his  writings,  but  will 
content  myself  with  one  illustrative  anecdote.  A 
friend  was  discussing  with  the  doctor  the  subject 
of  death  and  immortality,  and  the  latter  said, 
"  Our  life  was  yesterday,  is  to-day,  and  will  be 
to-morrow.  The  Jehovah  of  religious  life  among 
the  Jews  meant  the  three  tenses  of  the  verb  to 
be — the  present,  the  past  and  the  future.  There 
is  no  disjunction.  Death  is  only  a  transition  from 
this  present  life  to  a  superior  one." 

His  interlocutor  asked,  "  How  can  I  prove  such 
faith  to  others  ?"  He  replied,  with  a  smile,  "  The 
faculty  of  reasoning  belongs  to  science,  and  that 
of  faith  and  love  to  a  subtler  organ,  and  can  only 
be  proved  by  itself."  The  narrator  remarked 
later,  "  The  death  of  Eugene  Bodichon  must  have 
been  like  that  of  Socrates,  calm  and  joyous  except 
for  the  pang  in  thinking  of  his  wife's  deep  grief." 

The  liberator  of  an  entire  population  held  in 


816  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

the  bonds  of  slavery;  the  unsparing  censor  of  a 
corrupt  administration  and  dissolute  society;  the 
persistent  advocate  of  a  rational,  practical  and 
beneficent  system  of  colonization;  the  staunch 
upholder  of  freedom  of  opinion,  often  at  the  risk 
of  personal  safety — men  of  this  stamp  live  less 
for  themselves  than  for  humanity.  Sooner  or 
later  their  merit  is  recognized,  and  that  respect 
is  paid  to  their  memory  perhaps  withheld  during 
their  lives.  The  true  lover  of  his  kind,  moreover, 
is  content  to  be  ignored,  even  forgotten  in  the 
tomb,  provided  that  his  thoughts  live  and  his 
deeds  bear  fruit.  For,  as  the  poet  says— 

"Our  many  thoughts  and  deeds,  our  life  and  love, 
Our  happiness  and  all  that  we  have  been, 
Immortally  must  live,  and  burn,  and  move, 
When  we  shall  be  no  more." 

Dr.  Bodichon  died  in  Algiers  in  1885  ;  his  noble 
wife  followed  him  seven  years  later. 

In  the  recently  published  Letters  to  William 
Allingham  occurs  the  following  sentence  from 
this  warm  friend  :  "  I  should  like  always  to  live 
in  this  world,"  wrote  Mme.  Bodichon  then  in  her 
exuberant  and  ever-exuberating  prime.  Alas  !  not 
for  a  single  moment  did  she  give  thought  to  the 
resplendent  health  and  spirits  with  which  nature 
had  endowed  her,  and  which  made  Browning 
exclaim  :  "  Madame  Bodichon,  it  is  a  benediction 
to  see  you  !  "  The  quintessence  of  common  sense 
in  most  matters,  she  acted  as  if  without  any 


SOME   OF   "THE   QUALITY'        817 

precaution  whatever  one  could  enjoy  even  the 
ordinary  span  on  earth.  No  wonder  that  her 
over-taxed  brain  and  physique  gave  way  in  early 
middle  life.  Did  she,  perhaps,  ever  say  to  herself 
with  Browning  in  Pauline  ? — 

"  I  envy — how  I  envy  him  whose  soul 
Turns  its  whole  energies  to  some  one  end." 

Be  this  as  it  may,  divided  and  sub-divided 
activities  quite  prevented  her  from  achieving 
excellence  and  public  recognition  in  the  one  thing 
that  perhaps  lay  nearer  her  heart  than  even  the 
advancement  of  her  sex,  namely,  art.  Had  she 
devoted  her  life  to  artistic  ends  only  she  would 
doubtless  figure  as  the  first  woman  artist  of  the 
Victorian  epoch.  But  she  could  be  wise  for 
others,  not  for  herself.  "  That  woman  who  does 
one  thing  well,  who,  either  in  art,  literature  or  any 
other  calling,  attains  the  first  rank,  does  more  for 
our  cause  than  all  the  propagandists  of  woman's 
rights  put  together,"  she  once  said  to  me.  Yet, 
what  with  efforts  on  behalf  of  education,  laws 
affecting  women's  earnings  and  her  fallen  sisters 
—this  being  with  her  an  ever-present  and  deeply 
sorrowful  preoccupation — the  foundation  of  a 
university  for  her  sex,  her  modest  beginning  at 
Hitchin,  developing  into  Girton  College,  to  say 
nothing  of  social  and  personal  matters— 

"  .  .  .  that  care  though  wise  in  show 
That  with  superfluous  burden  loads  the  day  " — 


318  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

Is  it  any  marvel  that  health  and  brain  power  so 
prematurely  gave  way? 

Of  Girton  fame,  however,  she  lives,  and  her 
portrait  has  lately  been  added  to  the  great 
National  Gallery  in  South  Kensington — no  Vic- 
torian woman  worker  worthier  of  the  honour. 


EPILOGUE 


EPILOGUE 

OF  travellers  in  French-Africa,  it  can  no  longer 
be  said — 

"They  should  have  died  tomorrow." 

Commodity  has  killed  the  poetry  of  travel.  The 
railway,  the  cycle,  the  hateful  hooter  have 
banished  wayfaring  romance.  Adventure  and  the 
thrill  of  unexpectedness  are  only  to  be  had  by 
falling  head  first  a  thousand  feet  from  an  aero- 
plane, or  faring  on  tallow  grease  for  six  months 
on  the  frozen  top  or  bottom  of  our  little  ball. 

Nevertheless,  but  for  years  and  other  hin- 
drances, with  what  exhilaration  should  I  continue 
these  perlustrations,  presenting  my  cheques  at  the 
French  bankers  of  Timbuctoo  the  "  Mysterious  "; 
traverse  the  Sahara  where  the  zebras  still  wander 
at  will ;  in  another  direction  with  what  delight 
should  I  wander  about  the  "  city  disinterred  "  of 
Timgad,  and  in  yet  another  direction  gaze  upon 
the  prehistoric  sculptures  at  Tiout  in  Constantine  ! 
But  I  can  only  now  recall  and  read  of  Africa  and 
golden  joys. 

Since  the  experiences  here  recorded  France  has 

Y  32I 


322  IN   FRENCH-AFRICA 

held  me  spellbound,  not,  of  course,  by  its  scenery 
and  monuments  only. 

At  the  close  of  a  long,  not  uneventful — and  with 
all  humility  I  add,  satisfying — and  I  hope  not 
wholly  useless  life,  to  French-Africa  as  a  holiday 
ground  I  award  the  charm  of  witchery. 

I  have  witnessed  the  sun  set  with  indescribable 
splendour  at  equally  indescribable  Granada.  In 
halcyon  calm  I  have  steamed  from  >the  lovely 
land-locked  bay  of  Smyrna,  gliding  by  Delos, 
Chios,  Ithaca  and  the  rest,  each  islet  alike  a  fane, 
a  poem  and  in  itself  a  Walhalla — after  five  days 
casting  anchor  at  the  Piraeus,  ready  to  fall  on 
my  knees  and  kiss  the  soil  of  Greece.  I  have 
gathered  mignonette,  asphodel  and  the  lovely 
single-petalled  nigella  on  the  acropolis,  have 
climbed  Mars'  Hill,  musing  on  St.  Paul  and  the 
first  wonderful  coming  in  contact  of  Christianity 
and  Paganism  described  by  Hart  Milman,  from 
that  desolate  crag  turning  to  the  cool,  luxuriant, 
bird-singing  Academe,  my  thoughts  full  of  Plato, 
companion  and  teacher  of  so  many  years.  In 
happy  fortune  myself  and  companion  sailed  from 
Athens  to  Italy,  the  traditional  rough  weather  of 
the  Adriatic  calming  down  as  we  approached 
Venice  from  the  sea. 

On  a  sweet  May  morning  shortly  after  dawn 
we  glided  gently  towards  what  seemed  indeed  a 
city  of  pearl  against  a  primrose  sky,  in  which  a 
star  or  two  lingered  with  lessening  light ;  on  nearer 


EPILOGUE  323 


approach,  the  aspect  changing,  every  cupola  and 
palace  being  flushed  with  roseate  tints,  goldenest 
radiance  flooding  the  scene.  It  was  Turner's 
"  Approach  to  Venice  "  realized  ! 

Nor  have  I  missed  many  a  Northern  haunt 
of  fame  and  quieter,  less  dazzling  charm,  the 
beautiful  valley  of  Ilmenau  eternized  by  a  lyric, 
Luther's  grandiose  Wartburg,  symbol  of  the 
greatest  genius  of  his  century,  one  akin  to  the 
mighty  prophets  of  old — these  sites — and  how 
many  more? — proving  milestones  on  Life's  high 
road,  not  the  road  leading  to  self-abnegation  and 
the  fulfilment  of  moral  and  civic  duty,  but  to  the 
other,  to  the  enlargement  of  one's  intellectual 
and  aesthetic  being  and  the  inner  voice  of 
vocation. 

A  French  philosopher1  of  our  own  day  has 
beautifully  descanted  on  what  may  be  called  a 
fictive  fatherland,  a  second  and  voluntary  home. 
>£  We  come  into  the  world,"  he  writes,  "  belonging 
to  a  nation  we  have  not  chosen.  As  civilization 
advances  and  international  relations  take  wider 
extension,  many  individuals  will  select  a  comple- 
ment of  birthplace  and  nationality,  a  country  of 
which  the  language,  history,  literature,  art  and 
scenery,  will  become  familiar  as  our  own,  and  in 
which  will  be  formed  ties  of  closest  intimacy,  as 
well  as  co-operation  in  practical  concerns.  The 
choice  of  this  supplementary  and  freely  selected 
1  Sociologie  objective.  A.  Coste.  Paris,  1899. 


324  IN  FRENCH-AFRICA 

home  should  be  made  with  the  utmost  discretion, 
to  native  soil,  affection  and  loyalty  remaining 
firm  as  before." 

Never  for  a  moment  having  succumbed  with  so 
many  of  my  contemporaries  to  the  glamour  cast 
by  Italy,  my  adopted  and  additional  country  has 
been  France.  But  could  I  once  more  undertake 
oversea  travel  I  should  forego  that  much-loved 
land,  the  France  of  '89,  and  a  third  time  sail  for 
her  delightful  shores  of  Barbary ! 


THE    END 


Richard  Clay  &  Sons,  Limited,  London  and  Bung ay. 


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